


Can't Stand Losing You

by SoulSurvivor_36



Series: The Lives We Make for Ourselves [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Season 9, Spoilers, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulSurvivor_36/pseuds/SoulSurvivor_36
Summary: Dean and Delilah are all in... finally... but can their budding involvement with each other survive the harsh realities of the hunter lifestyle?  And Dean's overprotectiveness?  Or is it doomed to fail before it even really starts?





	1. Sunshine of Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> Ok... so this somehow turned into a monster of a fic, and I've been working on it now since October (whenever I can find time with my crazy work schedule) so it's not finished but it's almost finished! I wanted to post at least part of it today, because it's Christmas, and I wanted to get it out there today.
> 
> Imagine having an all access pass to Dean Winchester... I know what I would do. If you like reading explicit sexual content, MERRY CHRISTMAS!
> 
> This spans Season 9 Episode 14 "Captives" to Episode 16 "Blade Runners"
> 
> Again, I apologize for intergrating so much of the source material in my fics, but that's the world Delilah's been thrown into, and for authenticity's sake, I hate changing it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this latest fic, and I'm on vacation so I expect the last couple of chapters to be done by the end of the week.
> 
> ***Update! It's done. Just some editing left to do, and then I can mark it as complete.***
> 
> "But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you." V for Vendetta

Delilah slowly opened her eyes, a smile already on her face.  Light was coming in through the grate in her door and she could see the sleeping face on the pillow beside hers, wrapped in shadows.  His eyes were closed, his mouth relaxed as half his face pressed into the softness of the pillow.  He was lying on his side, his right arm between them, like he was reaching for her in his sleep.  She studied him, a small smile on her face, enjoying how carefree he looked so deeply asleep.  The more she looked at him, the more she wanted to touch him and she raised her hand and stroked his scruffy cheek gently, her thumb outlining his lower lip.  She leaned forward, indulging herself, now that he was so near, and kissed the corner of his mouth sweetly.  Dean moaned softly in his throat and turned, laying on his back, his eyes still closed, his face turned towards her, giving her full access to his mouth.  How could she say no to that?

She pressed herself closer to him under the sheets, the shock of skin on skin giving her goosebumps as she stretched her neck and kissed his mouth full on.  Slowly, Dean started to respond, at first kissing her back lazily, but then his arm pulled her more tightly to him and his hand came to caress her face, his fingers lost in her unruly mane of dark brown hair.  He became more insistent, slipping his tongue through her open lips.

Delilah could feel the passion building in the pit of her stomach and she slipped her hand down along his chest and stomach and wrapped her fingers around his already hard cock. He moaned into her mouth again as she stroked him slowly.  His hand roamed down from her hair to her breast and kneaded it, rubbing her nipple into a hard nub.

Delilah broke away from his kiss and swung her leg over his hips, straddling him, giving her a better angle for her strokes.  She looked down into his eyes, clouded by desire, as he held her gaze.  He ran his hands up her thighs and gripped her tightly when she squeezed him, closing his eyes, a low groan escaping past his clenched teeth.  His hands cupped her ass and rocked her forward and Delilah took this as her cue.

“Drawer,” she said, tilting her head towards the lamp table.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, reaching over and opening the night stand’s drawer to pull out a condom.

He unwrapped it and deftly rolled it in place.  Delilah gave him a coy smile and leaned forward over his chest towards his face.  She captured his mouth in another kiss, moving her hips forward until she felt him between her legs, hard and ready.  She pressed down slowly, feeling every inch of him sliding into her, and she moaned.  She straightened up and sank pelvis to pelvis.  God he felt so good.  She rocked her hips roughly getting a grunt from him as he laid his hands on her hips, pulling her forward to rock against him again.

The friction felt amazing and she increased her speed, riding him faster.  She threw back her head and closed her eyes tightly as she arched against him.  She could feel her control slip as she continued to increase the pace, trying to keep up with her own pleasure centres’ demands and spurred on by the throaty sounds coming from Dean.  She was so close to orgasm, every sensation was hyped, her nerve endings so sensitive and she pushed herself to keep up the relentless pace, desperate to find her release.

She felt his hand on her, his thumb pressing against her clit and she looked down into his face, his eyes boring into hers in the semi-darkness, his lips parted as he breathed heavily, and she could see that he was close to losing control too.  The added friction triggered her and she let the wave of pleasure wash over her as what felt like every muscle in her body tensed.  She gripped his arm tightly, bowing her head, forcing her body to keep moving through the sensations.  Dean gasped and let out a moan and suddenly he was sitting up, wrapping her shaking body tightly in his arms, squeezing her shoulder with one hand and burying his face in the crook of her neck.  They stayed that way, Dean heaving softly against her, Delilah holding on to him, as the pleasure subsided.

He relaxed his hold and lay back against the pillow, looking both surprised and content.  Delilah swung her leg back and he carefully pulled off and discarded the condom in the trash can by the bed.  She lay down on her side, pressing against him and looked into his face as she leaned up on her elbow.

“Good morning,” she told him, unable to suppress a smile.

“Mmmm, morning,” he replied, his voice husky from sex and sleep.

Delilah lay her hand on his chest and reached forward to kiss him, slowly and deeply, basking in the simple pleasure of his lips against hers.  She lay her head on his shoulder, tilting her nose into his neck, and took a deep breath, sighing.  Dean held her close and kissed the top of her head.

“A man could get used to this,” he said, starting to sound more awake.

“I didn’t particularly dislike it either,” she answered unable to resist teasing him.

Dean shifted under her, turning his body to the side, “I’ll have to try harder then,” he said and started kissing her all over, pulling her body against him, pressing her close.  His mouth came down on hers in a forceful kiss, and even feeling as sated as she did, her lower abdomen gave an interested flip.  She held on to his strong shoulders as he rolled his hips against her, wedging his leg between hers.

Dean’s stomach gave an undignified rumble and he pulled away from her lips and looked down, “Shut up you, I’m busy,” he said making Delilah laugh.

They made out lazily a little while longer, until another stomach growl was heard, this time from her belly, and they decided it would be best to get up.  Getting dressed was made much more difficult that morning with interrupting kisses and fondles, but they eventually managed.  They parted at the door, Delilah finally getting him out into the hallway regardless of a final, lingering kiss that nearly landed them in bed again.  She smiled and grinned all the way to the shower room, humming a nameless tune in her giddiness.  She daydreamed happily under the hot water, almost forgetting where she was as she basked in the post sex glow.

She walked into the kitchen a half hour later, only to realize it was nearly noon.  She went to the fridge to see what there was to eat, and found it mostly empty.  Footsteps behind her alerted her of a new arrival and she turned around to face him.

“I think we’re out of food,” she told Sam as she turned back to look inside the bare fridge.

“Yeah, was thinking of heading into town, get a pizza or something.”

Delilah closed the fridge and turned around, holding the milk carton. “Pizza…. It’s amazing to me that the two of you aren’t round like pot bellied pigs the way you eat.”

Sam laughed, “Yeah, benefits of the job I guess.”

“I’ll go do a grocery run,” she said, grabbing a clean glass from the shelf above the sink and pouring milk into it, “I was thinking of making something tonight.  Haven’t cooked anything practically since I moved in.  I’m picking up your bad habits.   Anything you want?  Favourite dish?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, “I have no idea, whatever you feel like making is fine.  You might want to pick up a pie for Dean.”

“Pie for Dean, got it.” She couldn’t help the smile twitching at her lips.

“Good,” he said, nodding his head and turning back towards the hallway, “That way we don’t have to put up with him grumbling that we forgot his birthday.”

Delilah was startled, “It’s Dean’s birthday, today?”

“January 24th!” he called over his shoulder and walked out.

Delilah pondered for a few seconds, and then a smile crept onto her face.  She knew what she would do.  She grabbed the credit card from the cup by the kitchen door and headed out to the garage with a bounce in her step.

 

“Best birthday ever, babe,” Dean whispered in her ear before kissing her neck, holding her close.

Delilah smiled shyly, half asleep.  She had never been in charge of anyone’s birthday before, not ever being close enough to be considered anyone’s pick for a party planner, but she was pretty proud of herself.

She had returned from her shopping that afternoon with enough food to feed an army, or a pair of Winchesters, and a few other things.  After sending a pizza out to the library to keep the boys fed during the day, she had locked herself in the kitchen, closing off both doors, and denied them access.  Even when Dean had come to investigate, she had barely opened the door long enough to stick her head out, kiss him on the lips and close the door in his startled face.

She had prepared a lasagna with a Caesar salad complete with cheesy, garlic bread.  She had also decided to make an apple pie, rather than buy one, flooding the bunker with the smell of baking apples and cinnamon.

The boys had eaten ravenously, as if they hadn’t eaten anything like it before, and Delilah was amused… was there anything simpler to make than a lasagna?  It was far from being the nectar of the gods they seemed to think it was… still, it was gratifying seeing them wolf down her food, especially with the nearly erotic sounds Dean made as he ate the pie.

She made the boys do the dishes, like a pair of overgrown teenagers, while she went to set up the next part of the surprise.  In the library, she had put up the projection screen she had found a while back when she was foraging through the storage rooms, and the new media projector she had just bought for the occasion, connecting it to Dean’s laptop, which he had conveniently left lying around in the war room.  She had dragged forward some of the padded chairs that were usually scattered around the library, deploring the fact that there was nothing more comfortable.  She had gone back to the kitchen, expecting to find a mess of water or some sort of sign of play fighting, as she imagined brothers would do, and instead found them doing the dishes in complete silence, Sam’s back stiff as he dried the last of them.  Delilah had stuck some popcorn on the stove as they finished up.

Sam had thanked her for the food, giving her a smile and she had told him he should stick around for the movie: Tombstone, one of her childhood favourites.  Sam had looked from her, popping the corn on the stove, to Dean, leaning on the counter with his beer, and said he would pass… westerns weren’t really his thing anyways.

She had been disappointed, worried she had upset him, and wondering if he had guessed about her and Dean, or if maybe Dean had told him, which would’ve been fine, except Sam was acting distant…

Dean had moved up behind her then and put his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck.  “Looks like I get to have you all to myself tonight,” he had said, turning her around so he could kiss her, pressing her back against the counter beside the stove.

In the end, they hadn’t made it to the library, instead heading to Dean’s room for more tumbling between the sheets.  When they had spent their energies, again, Dean had gone to the library, in his boxers and robe, and recovered his laptop, poised to play Tombstone, bringing it back to the room with him.  She had snuggled into his side as they watched, the laptop sitting on his desk, which he had put at the end of the bed.

Delilah felt her eyelids heavy with sleep, regardless of her love for the movie, and she burrowed into Dean’s side, resting her head on his chest and falling asleep.

 

The next few days passed in a haze of dreamy happiness.  She did take the time to seek out Sam, make sure everything was ok.  He seemed to have recovered from his bad mood and they continued working on their research, Dean coming and going around them as he kept himself busy between research, sorting and cataloging the bunker’s various artefacts, keeping the place tidy and working on his car.

Delilah found herself with more focus than she’d had in a while, her brain not sending her a thousand tingly signals every time Dean walked into the room.  Although sometimes, if he was sitting with them, he would give her this look, like he wanted nothing more than to eat her up and it would send distracting throbs to her sex.  And the bastard knew what he was doing because he would get this sinful smile on his face every time he caught her looking his way.

Try as she might though, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things were too good to be true.  Whenever those thoughts popped into her head though, she shushed them, sending them packing; if tomorrow she and Dean could no longer be together, she would deal with it then, for now she was content giving in to the urge to touch, kiss and be close to him whenever she felt like it and best of all, falling asleep in his arms completely exhausted from some of the best sex she’d ever had.

 

Delilah made her way down the garage steps towards the laundry room, getting a load started, coming back from the gym.  Although it was late, she headed towards the kitchen, for a post workout snack.

As she drew nearer she could hear voices and she frowned, why were they in the kitchen at this time? Together?  For them to both happen to be there at 11:30 p.m. was strange.  Sam’s voice drifted towards her and her ears picked up a couple words that set her on alert, something was up, why else would he be talking about the bunker’s wards and sigils and something getting in?

She skipped up the hallway steps and down into the kitchen.  Dean’s back was turned, standing by the coffee bar, but Sam was sitting at the table with the shell making kit set out in front of him.

“So,” said Dean, still turned towards Sam.  “Whoever's haunting us, died here.”

“Haunting?  What?” Delilah asked, caught by surprise.

Dean turned to look at her, his face completely serious, “Yup, bunker’s haunted.”

She raised her eyebrows and glanced at Sam for confirmation.  He nodded, and continued stuffing salt into rounds and pressing them in the shell press.

“Sounds like I missed out on some action,” she said warily.

“It’s what you get for going to the gym, you freaky health nut,” Dean teased her.

She stuck her tongue out at him annoyed.  “Do we know who it is?” she asked, walking past Dean towards the table and sitting down across from Sam.

“Dead Men of Letters?” suggested Sam, looking up from his task.

If whoever’s haunting them had died there, then that would make sense, she turned on the round stool to look up at Dean, to see what he thought about it.  He had a frown on his face, not looking convinced at all, “No, that doesn’t track.”  He paused, glancing at her then addressing Sam, “I mean, we’re the first people to occupy this place in fifty years.” Delilah reached for an empty shell pouch on the table, still turned so she could see both brothers, while Dean continued, “Why would a ghost wait so long to get its spook on?”

“Ghosts don’t always manifest right away, right?”  Delilah said, putting Sam’s newly made salt shells into the pouch, “It takes time to get through the veil.  Look at Nicholas Whelan.” She looked at Dean, standing arms crossed beside her.  “He died three years ago, but only started haunting Dodge three weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but for it to take fifty years?” Dean replied, obviously not convinced.

Sam started putting shells in another holder.  Softly, he said, “Must’ve been a more recent death.”

The coffee machine behind Delilah beeped, but she didn’t spare it a thought disturbed by what Sam was suggesting.  _It couldn’t be Kevin_ , she thought.  Dean echoed her thoughts, “No,” he said looking chilling in his dead certainty.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Sam, sadly.

“Because I burned his body myself, ok?” responded Dean angrily.  The coffee machine beeped again and Delilah turned towards it, frowning, “It’s not him.”

Delilah continued to look at the percolating coffee, the smell getting stronger.

“Okay so, you cremated him,” Sam said behind her, “We cremated Bobby too, and he came back.”

The time on the coffee machine changed suddenly, and she blinked, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her.  “Guys,” she started, hesitantly, but they ignored her, continuing their argument.

“Sam, I’m telling you… this ghost,” he was saying, adamantly, “it’s not Kevin.”

“Guys!” Delilah cried out, as the machine went ballistic.  She jumped up and away from the coffee bar, standing partly behind Dean while Sam stood up beside her.

They all stared at it apprehensively as it beeped nonstop, blinked on and off and the numbers on the clock started changing quickly.  Then just as suddenly, it stopped.  Dean took a step back slowly, looking both puzzled and alarmed.

Sam looked just as disconcerted as he said, “Kevin?”

Delilah stared at the machine, not sure what she expected when suddenly one of the cups exploded.  The three of them startled, Dean uttering a startled “Whoa!” while she grabbed the back of his shirt and Sam took a step back.  Shit, it was Kevin.

Her surprise subsided and she let go of Dean, slumping her shoulders.  Damnit! He was supposed to be at peace.  And all this time, he’d been stuck in the veil?  She turned to look at Sam, to ask him why Kevin wouldn’t be in Heaven, but decided to keep her question for later when she saw his face.  He was clearly upset: his mouth in a tight line and his jaw twitching.

Dean grabbed the EMF reader off the table and aimed it at the coffee machine, it gave a feeble whirr, but nothing more.  He pointed it around the room but got nothing else.

“Kevin?” he called out, and Delilah looked towards the coffee bar again, but nothing happened.

She slumped back to her seat, leaning against the table, not wanting to take her eyes off the things on the bar.

“Why would he be hanging around?  Shouldn’t he be… moved on?”

She saw Dean twitch, looking uncomfortable and angry and Sam leaned back against the end of the table beside her.  “I don’t know,” he said, “Maybe he felt he had unfinished business.”

Delilah frowned, “Ghosts can choose to stay?”

She had never really thought about it before.  The spirits she had, so far, encountered had all been violent and she figured they didn’t have a choice in the matter.

“Reapers collect the souls of the dead,” Dean started explaining, standing awkwardly and finally settling for crossing his arms. “But people can refuse to go with them, and when they do, they become spirits.”

She nodded, absorbing and sorting calmly, deciding what her questions would be and what she should focus on.  There was so much she did not know still.  Dean came to sit next to her at the table and they faced each other while he told her about reapers.  Sam came and went around them, quietly putting away the shell press and new salt rounds.

Reapers were a class of angels put under the management of Death, the horseman/Big Daddy reaper himself.  They had the same powers as other classes of angels but also a few extras, like travelling between planes to bring souls to their final resting place: Heaven, Hell or Purgatory.  He told her about some of the reapers he’d met.  The first one had cured his weakened heart, but only after transferring his ills to someone else, causing their death.  The second one had altered his perception, masquerading as a pretty girl who needed his help.  As he kept talking, his low rumble fading in the background, Delilah worked things out in her head.  Had Adriel been a reaper then?  She had made herself look like Dean to try and get her to talk. Delilah shuddered, remembering how it had felt to sink the angel blade into the angel’s heart, still not 100% convinced that it wasn’t Dean.

Sam came back into the kitchen snapping her out of her reverie. Dean stood up.

“Right, I think we should keep watch, in case Kevin pushes through again.”

“I’ll take first shift,” said Sam.

“I’ll stay too.  Just gonna go switch the laundry and I’ll be right back,” Delilah said, standing up as Dean moved passed her, shaking his head.

She followed him out of the room and down the hallway.  He turned right to go to his bedroom, not sparing her a glance, making her think that maybe he wasn’t coping quite as well as it seemed with Kevin’s ghost making an appearance.

When she got back to Sam, he had brought the coffee machine onto the table and he was talking to it.  She only caught the tail end of what he had to say, but it sounded like he was apologizing to Kevin for killing him.  Delilah sighed, frustrated with this habit both brothers had of blaming themselves for every misfortune.  She stepped down into the kitchen and Sam looked up.  The skin around his eyes was slightly red and puffy, like when he had been possessed by Gadreel and tired all the time.  She felt her heart pull at her, seeing this huge, strong man looking so crestfallen, speaking to his dead friend… through a coffee machine.  Delilah decided to forgo the lecture she had been planning on giving him about martyrs and guilt, and instead walked up to him and put her hands on his shoulders.  She leaned down towards him and pulled him against her, cradling his head against the base of her throat.  At first he didn’t react.  She passed her hand through his soft hair, and finally, he lifted his arms to hold her tightly around the waist.

She didn’t think he was crying, he certainly wasn’t heaving or shaking with sobs or anything, but he did seem to need this friendly intimacy and she let him hold on as long as he wanted, while she petted his hair affectionately.  Poor Sam.  He always seemed so emotionally sound, never letting on that something was bothering him.  With Dean, everything could be seen all over his face and in his eyes, until the shields went up.  When did Sam ever let his shields down?  It seemed like they were always up, like he was always in control.

He loosened his grip a little while later and Delilah sat down next to him, folding her arms on the table and laying her head on them, looking at the machine for signs that it was more than just something to make coffee with; looking for signs that her friend was near again.

An hour later, or was it two? Nothing new had happened and Delilah was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Why don’t you go to bed?  I got this.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m not being very good company.  Too many things on my mind I think.”

“That’s ok.  We’ve all got a lot on our minds, right now.”

Delilah nodded and yawned as she got up and headed for the kitchen’s side door.  Just before she left the room though, Sam called out to her, making her stop and turn around.

“Thanks,” he said to her, looking like a little boy, an overgrown, gigantic, sad little boy..

“For what?” she asked him.

“For being here.  For sticking around even with all the bullshit.  You didn’t ask for all this drama.”

She smiled at him, “Sam, you’re my family.”

Sam didn’t respond, he only nodded and Delilah smiled at him again and then left the room, walking down the dark hallways towards her bed.  She turned the corner and noticed that there was still light coming from room 11.  She walked to it and saw that the door was ajar.  She pushed it open quietly and peaked inside.

Dean was lying on his back, on the right side of the bed, his ankles crossed and one arm behind his head, propped up on the pillows.  He was fully clothed, except for the dark blue shirt he had been wearing over his grey Henley.  He had large noise cancelling earphones on, and she spotted his red iPod on the bedside table.  His mouth was slack and his breathing even – he had fallen asleep listening to music.  She watched him tenderly as his chest rose and fell, his relaxed face devoid of its usual frown lines.  Lustful thoughts popped into her head, like so many times before when they hadn’t been talking, and she decided to act on them.  Why not?  She took two steps into the room, closed the door behind her and hit the main light switch so all the lights except the bedside lamp turned off.  She walked over to the end of the bed, stripped down to her underwear and crawled on, straddling his legs as she went.  She sat back on her heels, resting on his hips as he slowly opened his eyes; a lifetime of hunting making him a light sleeper.  She reached for the earphones and pulled them off gently, music seeping out of them.  _Billy Squier?_ she thought, as he focused his gaze on her.  She leaned up and kissed his waiting lips.

It didn’t take long for her to strip him of his clothes, all the while kissing the newly bared flesh.  Then she got rid of her flimsy garments and mounted him again, guiding him inside and letting gravity push him in deeply.  It was quick and dirty, just enough to clear some of the emotions that had started to overwhelm her that evening and set her mind straight again.  When they were both spent, Delilah made to get up, but he tucked her into his side with his arm and kissed the top of her head.  They fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth and basking in the soft glow of the lamp.  Maybe, she thought, she needed his comfort just as badly as Sam had needed hers.

 

Delilah woke up to an empty bed.  She stretched and pulled her phone out of her pocket.  It was only 4 a.m.  Delilah figured Dean had gone to relieve Sam of sentry duty.  She yawned and walked out of the room and into the dark hallway, detouring to the washroom before heading back to the kitchen.  She crossed Sam in the back hallway, on his way to his room, his stubbly chin looking scruffy.

“Anything?”

“A couple of dings.  A little EMF activity, but mostly silence.  He’s back in the veil.”

Delilah smiled sadly and put her hand on his shoulder.  Sam continued on his way to his room and Delilah headed to the kitchen.  Dean was talking to someone, she could hear his voice before she got through the door.  He was sounding gruff this morning.

“You did not choose this life. You busted your ass, you lost everything, everyone you've loved... And your reward? Getting killed...” His voice broke and he paused.

Delilah walked up the hallway steps and then down into the kitchen.  Dean was sitting on the end of the table, the room was empty.  He had his hand on his eyes, clearly hanging on to his composure by a thread.

“There’s nothing I can do to make that right.”  His voice trembled, “I am so sorry.”

Delilah walked up, and stood right in front of him.  She put her hand on his cheek and he looked up at her, looking so completely forlorn, it tore her up inside.  Memories of the night Kevin died went through her head: Kevin lying on the library floor, the funeral pyre, Dean sobbing in her arms.  She stepped closer to him and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his.  He put his hands on her hips, pulling her closer, not breaking the comforting contact.

“No, this is not happening,” a hollow, echoing voice to the left said.  Delilah stepped back and looked, wide eyed as the lights around them went haywire and the shape of Kevin flickered in and out like bad TV reception.  “Didn't spend months struggling to break through the veil,” Sam came rushing into the room and Dean stood up from the table as Kevin continued, “Just to get stuck watching Dean Winchester suck face.”

Delilah blushed as she saw Sam out of the corner of her eye look towards her and Dean.  Dean was staring wide-eyed at the apparition, paying his brother no mind.

“Kevin?” he said

The ghost looked up sharply, surprised, as the three of them stared right at him.  He looked exactly like he had on the night he was murdered, down to his unshaven chin fuzz and beige shirt.

“You can see me?” he asked in disbelief as his form started to flicker again.

Sam took a few slow steps towards him, “Hey, take it easy, Kevin.  You might not hold this form for too long, okay?  I-it takes a while.”

Kevin stopped flickering, “Then we should talk fast.”

“Wait,” Dean said quickly,  “Why aren’t you in Heaven?  If anybody deserves an express pass to paradise…”

Kevin interrupted him, “I couldn't. I can't. No one can,” he explained as he flickered again, looking like he was going out completely, but then coming back, “Heaven's closed for business. Everyone who's died since the angels fell are just stuck inside the veil, waiting.  And it's bad in here. Like DMV-line-times-infinity bad,” he finished, seeming to hold his shape better.

Sam was looking appalled, and Dean was struck dumb too.

“What can we do to help, Kevin?” asked Delilah, stepping in, “We’re already working on finding a way to reopen Heaven.”

“I need a favour… big one.”

“Okay,” said Sam.

“Anything, Kev,” added Delilah.

“Find my mother,” he said.

Dean shifted uncomfortably.  “Crowley only told you she was alive to mess with you.”

“I'm not going off his word. All right? I have my own sources. It's crowded in the veil. All of us are stuck near the sites of our deaths. But I've been able to pass messages spirit to spirit. I made contact with another new arrival. She said she saw my mom just a week ago, alive.”

“Okay, this… this spirit that you're playing ghost telephone with, I mean, what do you even know about her?” asked Dean, his tone growing more brisk.

“Her name's Candy. Says she's in a forest in Wichita,” said Kevin

“Candy?” reacted Dean skeptically.

“That's it? That's all you got?” asked Sam.

Delilah had to agree with their reactions, talk about clinging to the smallest shred of hope.

“Long-distance communication within the veil – it’s not ideal. That's why I need you to go there, summon her, see what else she knows.” He paused and looked at each of them and stopped on Dean, “You say you want to make it right?” Kevin flickered away but his voice echoed, “This is how.”

Atmosphere in the kitchen was bleak, neither brother saying anything as they absorbed Kevin’s request.  Delilah looked from one to the other and decided to take the reins.

“Alright!” They startled.  “Let’s head out to Wichita.”

“Lilah…” started Dean, but she cut him off.

“We just said we’d help him out.  There’s nothing to hesitate about.”

Dean sighed and reached between them to take her hand in his.  Sam looked their way, tilting his head, raising his eyebrows in surprise.  Dean looked at his feet, then back into her eyes.

“Lilah, I need you to listen to me,” he started carefully.

She turned to look at him but cut him off before he got started, “If you’re about to tell me that I’m not going, you’re in for a nasty shock.”

“You need to stay here.  It’s safer.”

Delilah pulled her hand away from his, feeling the anger building inside, she tried very hard to keep it under control.  “What you mean is that you _want_ me to stay here so _you_ won’t have to babysit me.”

“Please, don’t start this…”

“No, Dean!  This isn’t your decision!  It’s mine.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, looking around everywhere but at her and Dean arguing.  The older brother looked awkward too as his eyes flicked up to his sibling.  She sighed in frustration and grabbed his arm, refocusing his attention on her.

“You need to trust that I can take care of myself out there.  I’ve been hunting for half a year now…”

“Exactly!  Sam and I’ve been doing this our whole lives, you’re no better than a rookie.”

Delilah wanted to scream she was so frustrated, hadn’t she proven herself capable already?  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, rolling her tongue in her mouth to avoid saying anything she would regret.  She felt a pair of large, rough hands cup her face and she opened her eyes to Dean’s intense stare, just inches away.  She felt stunned, and just barely registered Sam walking out of the kitchen abruptly.

“Don’t you get it?” he said adamantly, his voice low and rough, his eyes blazing, “I can’t let you get hurt… again.”

How could she possibly be mad at the scared, insecure man in front of her?  He always acted so tough, she forgot that it was mostly a mask.  She laid her hands on his chest and she could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.  But she would not be deterred.  “I’m not going to just sit around here waiting for you to come home… or not come back at all,” she whispered gently, bringing her hands up to his shirt collar and holding on to the open edges, “You need to trust that I _can_ take care of myself out there.  And if something does happen to me, it won’t be your fault.”

“Goddamnit,” he uttered from behind clenched teeth, before closing his lips over hers and holding on to her so tightly she could hardly breathe.

It was with an air of near desperation that Dean finally pulled away from her, his eyes closed, leaning his forehead against hers, his hands falling to hold her shoulders.  She laid her hand on his cheek, her thumb resting at the corner of his lips.  She kissed him gently and stroked the soft bristles on his jaw.  She kept her eyes on him, until finally, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, his teeth clenched tightly.

⭐


	2. Captives

It was mid-afternoon by the time Dean parked the Impala at the trail head to a wood in Wichita.  It had taken Sam nearly all morning to make contact with Kevin again in order to gather more information about Candy.  He had managed to get an approximate location based on nearby landmarks she had passed along in their communications.  The day was grey and overcast and chilling as the humidity seeped right through Delilah’s lined jacket; _it couldn't be a more perfect atmosphere for chasing after ghosts_ , she thought bitterly.

It was somewhat stressful, not knowing what they were hunting; she had no idea what weapons to carry.  She had settled for her angel blade, tucking it in her belt at her hip, figuring it was the weapon that could deal with the most creatures.  Sam had also handed her a gun which she took hesitantly and put into her messenger bag.  She still wasn’t very comfortable with it.  In the firing range it was fine, but she was afraid that she’d lose her accuracy in a fight and shoot the wrong thing.  At least with the rock salt shotgun, although it hurt like a bitch, it wouldn’t kill someone who accidentally got in the way.

Delilah hiked beside Sam, who was carrying a duffle over his shoulder, Dean had insisted on bringing up the rear, carrying his own duffle.  The trail was lined with evergreens and cedars and leafy trees with bare branches now in the winter.

Sam had been incredibly quiet since that morning, only talking when there was something about the case that needed to be relayed.  Delilah was growing increasingly worried about his silence.  His friendship had become so important to her, the idea that he was now mad at her was nearly unbearable.

“Alright, that’s the trestle,” Sam said suddenly, pulling up short, Dean catching up to them.

Delilah looked around at the structure holding up the train tracks headed across the river.  The light breeze coming off the water was doing nothing to improve the cold, damp air.  Delilah hunched into herself, rubbing her arms for warmth.  Sam turned to the left, heading into the woods away from the river.

“Candy said her spirit was stuck nearby,” he said.

Delilah turned to follow him, now walking next to Dean.  He looked around skeptically. “She died here?” He paused, “Dude, what got her?  A bear?”

Delilah chuckled, unable to stop herself.  Fucking Dean, the guy is incapable of being somber.  They had found a grove of trees with makeshift benches made from fallen trees; clearly a local meet up spot, maybe for campers and partying teenagers in the warmer summer months.  Sam and Dean dropped their gear and started unpacking.

“I’m still stuck on the fact that we’re trying to summon a ghost named Candy,” said Sam.

Delilah walked up to Dean and started helping him take things out of his duffel, dropping her own bag to the ground.  “You know,” Sam continued, sounding frustrated, “just ‘cause Kevin said he heard his mom’s alive, doesn’t mean she is.”

Delilah turned towards Sam, “We owe it to him to try.”

Sam shut up.  Dean took an old radio out of his bag and hung it by the handle on a nail on a tree.  Delilah went back to the bag and foraged through the folds.

“What the hell?” she asked, surprised, as she pulled out the coffee machine.  She looked towards Dean who took it from her.

“What? She’s only been dead for a week, so I figured she could use as much help as she can get.”

Sam turned to look at what they were doing and saw the coffee maker.  “Really?”

Dean gave a non-committal shrug, “Whatever works,” he said, then set the machine onto the bench beside where the radio was hanging.

Sam walked over to them holding a spirit board and set it down beside the coffee maker.

“Really?” echoed Dean at his brother before going back to his duffle shaking his head.

“Do these things actually work?” she asked him, fiddling with the pointer.

“Yeah, Sam likes those things,” Dean said teasingly over his shoulder, “Along with pillow fights, and sleepovers.”

Sam glared at his brother. “How do you think I got all that information out of Kevin after he fizzed out, huh?  And you didn’t complain when you were in a coma.”

“I have no recollection of those events, so I’m denying the Ouija board ever happened.”

Sam scoffed at him, “Yeah, good luck with that horseshit you’re peddling.  Tessa restored your memories.  You’re just being a jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean answered under his breath.

Delilah put down the pointer on the board, looking down, trying to hide her half smile.  God these idiots would be the death of her, how the hell was she supposed to keep a straight face around them?  Tessa… that was the name of one of the reapers who came for Dean, she remembered, losing her smile.

Dean pulled out short, round candles from the bag and handed them to Sam who was holding out his hands.  She watched him set them down in a circle around a cloth with a pentagram.  She was entranced watching him prepare the summoning ritual: like something out of a bad horror film.  Dean nearly startled her when he handed her the EMF reader.  She took it from him and started scanning the area, while he pulled a few more things from the bag, including a jar full of a red liquid she figured was blood… when did they pick that up?  Did they have a supply of blood on hand for this stuff?  Wouldn’t it be clotted by now?

Deciding that there were some things she did not want to know about just yet, she started walking around the perimeter of the small clearing, sweeping the area with the reader.  It wasn’t even twitching, much to her frustration.  She moved further away into the woods continuing her sweep but getting the same results.  If Candy had died just the week before, she most likely hadn’t even manifested yet.  She headed back to the clearing, put the reader down on the bench near the coffeemaker and walked back over to where Dean was lighting the candles, crouching on the ground.  She watched him, overwhelmed by a sudden yearning to be in his arms.  God he was so handsome.

“Alright,” he said, standing straight and wiping his hands, “I think we’re just about ready.”  He turned around and his eyes met hers.  His face took on a mildly surprised look: his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted, just barely showing teeth.  “What is it?” he asked her, sounding puzzled.

Delilah took the few steps to close the gap between them and captured his mouth with hers.  Getting over his surprise, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him.  She could feel warmth spreading through her, a welcome relief from the cold.

Sam cleared his throat and Delilah pulled away from Dean’s lips as his arms fell back to his sides.  She tore her eyes away from him and saw Sam leafing through an old, soft leather bound book in his hands, looking completely awkward.

Delilah wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling cold again and glanced up at Dean shyly.  He was looking around at his brother, his lips turned down at the corners.  He did spare her a quick smile though before turning away and walking over to him.

She sat down on the bench across from where they had put all the electronic equipment, hoping it would help Candy push through the veil.  Dean finished setting up the ritual and then joined her on the bench, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets and nudging her with his knee.  She nudged him back, but kept her eyes on Sam as he started reading out loud in latin.  She got the gist of what he was saying, her ears picking up some of the words, although she was more used to reading latin than hearing it, and even that was slightly rusty.

Sam finished the incantation and an eerie quietness fell over the small clearing and a chill went through Delilah as they all waited, looking around them at the growing darkness, dusk setting in early with the overcast sky.  None of them moved, alert to any sound, but everything was hushed.  Sam repeated the incantation, but nothing more happened and pretty soon the only light was coming from the flickering candles on the ground, casting a dim glow that did nothing to dispel the cold and dark.

Delilah started shivering, wrapping her arms around herself, trying not to break the atmosphere for fear that it would make it harder for the spirit to communicate.  From beside her she heard Dean shift and say, “To hell with this.”

He stood up, pulling his phone out of his pocket and hitting one of his speed dials.  He turned on the battery powered lanterns he had brought along and the clearing was suddenly much brighter, the white light making everything look overexposed.  He walked out beyond the lantern light, Sam watching him, looking annoyed.  He still had the book in his hands, but quickly put it away and came to sit besides Delilah on the bench.

In the distance, she heard Dean swear then ordered someone angrily to call him back.

“Who is Dean threatening now?” she asked Sam.

Sam rubbed his hands together and looked towards where his brother’s voice was coming from. “Who knows.”  He tucked his hands into his brown jacket’s pockets.  “Soooo… you and Dean huh?  Giving that another try?”

Delilah turned to face him as he looked straight ahead, a frown on his face.  “Are you angry with me?” she asked him, feeling insecure and afraid of his answer.

Sam continued to look off into the distance, not saying anything.  She felt low; her happiness at being with Dean dimmed in the light of Sam’s disapproval.  She put her hand on his forearm, and he turned to look at her.  His hard expression softened almost instantly, his frown disappearing but not quite making it into a smile.  He looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side.

“I’m not angry with you, Delilah.  I just don’t want you to get hurt.  Winchesters don’t make for very good… boyfriends.” He said that last word shaking his head, clearly not happy with the term.

Delilah smiled, what a ridiculously romantic notion, “Don’t worry, Sam.  I’m not one for traditional domestic life.  Whatever this is, all I know is that it feels...”

Dean walked back into the circle, a warm tingling running through her, she smiled, not bothering to finish her thought out loud.  Dean pulled up short seeing her tucked into his brother.  She tried to sit up, but Sam didn’t let her move.  Dean’s face went from surprised to serious as he and Sam stared each other down.  What goddamned macho bullshit.

She grabbed Sam’s hand that had been holding her elbow and twisted it.  He cried out in surprise as his body tried to move out of the wrist lock. She slipped out from under his arm, standing up, and twisted again making him fall forward off the bench and onto his knee.

“Aaah! I give, I give!” he said roughly.

Delilah looked up at Dean, who was grinning like an idiot, considering she’d put him in a similar lock before, and gave him a glare, “Is your pissing contest over?  Can we get back to finding Kevin’s mom?”

She released Sam who stood up his full 6’5” height, towering above her and holding his shoulder. They both nodded and Delilah sat back down on the bench, mumbling under her breath about their ridiculous behaviour.  Dean hit a button on his phone and put it to his ear again.  Sam moved away and went to fiddle with the EMF reader.

Dean put his phone down again, not bothering to leave a message this time, and came so sit beside Delilah.  He leaned towards her, his breath warm on her ear. “I keep underestimating you,” he said.

“Yes,” she said sharply, “You do.”

She turned her head towards him and his smile disarmed her instantly, her annoyance dissolving into nothing.  He leaned away and bent down to grab something out of his bag on the ground. He handed her a beer, which she declined, and he opened it himself taking a good chug, then looked down at his phone again.

“Who do you keep calling?” she asked him.

“Crowley.”  Delilah raised her eyebrows, surprised.  “It’s a long shot,” he said, “but he is our last connection with Ms Tran.  I was hoping, maybe, since he’s been… helping out… he’d give up her location.”

“Yeah because you’re good buddies now with that asshole.” Delilah shook her head and looked off into the dark woods, “Can’t believe you have the King of Hell on speed dial.”

“Yeah,” he replied, putting the phone away in his pocket, “Life is fucking twisted these days.”

Sam returned from his sweep with the EMF.  From the look on his face, there was still no sign of a spirit.  Delilah tucked her hands in her pockets and squeezed her legs trying to make her blood pump heat into her cold limbs.  He came and sat down next to her on the now crowded bench, forcing her to scoot up against Dean.  Between the two of them, she slowly started to warm up again.

Hours, and a few more beers for Dean, later, nothing continued to happen in the cold Kansas woods.  The candles were still burning, but nearing the end of their wick.

“I think I felt a chill,” Sam said, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“Yeah,” said Dean, picking up his phone again, “It’s ‘cause it’s cold.” Dean spoke into his phone, sounding resigned, “Crowley, it’s Dean.  Call me when you get this.”

“Really Dean?” Sam said, getting a questioning look from his brother. “That’s your third unanswered voicemail.  You ever think… maybe he’s just not that into you?”

Delilah held back a snort as Dean took another swig of his beer, “Shut up,” he said, childishly, “He’s a flaming douche, but at least he’s real.  Which is more than I can say for this Candy no-show.”

Dean tossed his empty beer can to the ground and Sam blew into his bare hands, trying to warm them up.  Delilah was back to shivering, even with the boys’ body heat, there’s only so much time, sitting out in the cold, that a body can take.  She longed for the Impala’s heater with its clunking Legos.

Suddenly, Delilah heard radio static coming from the tree in front of her. All three of them looked up.  The tuner was flashing green on and off as the radio moved between channels.  The brothers stood up and moved closer to it, Delilah a step behind them, the cold forgotten now that there was actually something happening.

“Candy?” Sam called out, while Dean fiddled with the radio dials, “Are you there? Is that you Candy?”

“Hello?” A static distorted girl’s voice suddenly came out of the radio, and Dean pulled his hand away, staring at the equipment like it might bite.  Delilah moved closer, wide-eyed as another “Hello?” rang out, this time clearer.

Sam got over the shock first, jumping in, “Candy, can you hear me?”

There was a pause, then the staticky voice replied, “Yes.”

“Candy, we’re here because you said you saw Linda Tran.”

“I didn’t… see… Linda, not really,” the voice started fading, the static overwhelming her.

“Just stay calm, Candy.  Tell us what you know,” Dean said in a soothing voice.

The three of them listened as Candy struggled to get her story out, crying, the static drowning her out sometimes and making her words impossible to hear, but enough was clear to piece together what had happened.  She had been abducted from her home and locked away.  She and two others had been held captive in what she described as boxes side-by-side.  She didn’t know where they were, but it was cold and dark.  There was a vent they had used to talk to each other.  The walls were cement, but there was a door made out of ridged metal.

“Ridged?” said Dean, “You mean like, corrugated?”

“Yeah!” answered the radio, “I tried to lift the door but I couldn’t.  Locked from the outside.”

The wheels in Delilah’s head threw an image at her and she spoke softly, “Like a storage unit?”

Dean looked at her, nodding his head, “Maybe,” said Sam softly.  To the radio, he spoke, raising his voice again, “Candy, who was holding you there?”

“Two men.  It was so dark in the box.  When they came, I could barely see.  The first guy was… British… I think?  Kinda short, loved hearing himself talk.”

“Crowley,” Dean said with a deep frown.

“What did they want?” asked Sam.

“Said I was worth more alive, than dead.  But he stopped coming.  Then it was just the other guy…”

Candy went on and described how she had attacked him and escaped.  She had run as hard and far as she could, into the woods but obviously, she hadn’t made it.  Delilah stepped away from the radio, letting Sam and Dean finish up their questions, and grabbed her tablet out of her bag.  She quickly opened the web browser and searched the area for storage facilities within running distance of where they were.  There were three that could possibly be where they were keeping Kevin’s mom.

Delilah looked up when she heard Dean swearing loudly.  He walked away, grabbing his cell phone again while Sam played with the radio dials calling out Candy’s name.

“Crowley you goddamn, fucking, son of a bitch!  Call me back right now!”

Dean hung up again and walked off into the dark woods, cursing a blue streak.  Delilah approached Sam, who had given up trying to get Candy back from the veil.

“Sam…” she started, trying to show him the map on her tablet.

“All this time.  Kevin told us Crowley had his mother.  And we did nothing.”

Oh for God’s sake.  “Suck it up, Winchester.”  Sam turned to look at her, startled.  “Crowley’s scum!  Why you and your brother seem to have forgotten that is beyond me.  But look, we can make it right.”  She pushed her tablet towards him.  “There are three storage facilities that are close enough to here for someone to run from.”

He took the tablet from her and tapped deftly to bring up information on the storage centres.  A branch snapped behind her and she turned to see Dean stepping back into the lantern lit clearing.

“Are you done cursing at the trees?” she asked him, maybe a little harshly.

He looked up, looking fuming mad, sending a chill down her spine.  “If I get my hands on that fucking demon, he’s dead.”

“Not without the First Blade though,” she reminded him, “You still need him to find it for you.”

“I’m gonna stick that fucking thing right in his gut.”

“Well that’s perfectly healthy,” Delilah said with an exasperated sigh. “In the meantime though,” she turned back to Sam, “we should go check out those places, right?

“Yeah,” he said, handing her back her tablet, “We’ll need to stop somewhere first though, I didn’t bring my suit, did you?” he added looking at his brother.

“Naw.  Didn’t think I’d need it.”

Delilah tapped on her tablet again. “There’s a Target up the road.”

They both turned and glared at her and she shrugged.

 

Back in the car a little while later, warm and fed and outfitted in all of middle class, polyester glory, Sam and Dean were talking about the case.  Sam had found out, through the internet, that Candy had been involved with a congressman.  Crowley had probably been using her the same way he had been keeping Kevin’s mom: for control.

“Human leverage,” Dean said, staring out the rain soaked windshield as they drove towards the next storage unit on the list. “But why kill Candy?”

“Maybe, when she tried to make a break for it, Crowley killed her,” Sam said.

“Maybe he was making an example of her,” Delilah chimed in from the back seat, Dean’s eyes flicking at her in the rearview mirror, “You know, so no one else tries to run away.”

Dean wasn’t convinced, “Naw, the guy left in charge,” he said, “Crowley wanted the victims alive.”

Was he defending Crowley?  What the hell was going on?  He just said he was going to kill Crowley next time he saw him and now the demon’s irreproachable.

“So what?” Sam said, sounding irritated, “You want to give him a medal?  Crowley’s the one who put them in the cells in the first place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, defensively, “I’m just talking it out, working the case.  _Business_ like.”

Delilah dropped her head onto the back of the seat, as Sam riposted with a comment about Dean being buddies with Crowley.  Not this bickering again.  She had no idea whose side she was on anymore.  She couldn’t believe Sam was still this angry after nearly three months.  Maybe Kevin reappearing as a ghost had some old wounds fresh, and she knew Sam still hadn’t forgiven his brother for Gadreel.  Dean, however, really wasn’t helping by throwing Sam’s words in his face whenever he got mad.  They were no better than a couple of teenage girls rehashing old arguments just to keep escalating, never dealing with the real problem.

Dean pulled up into the parking lot.  She yawned, staring out the window at the tacky neon sign touting the 24 hour access to Castle Storage.  Sam and Dean got out of the car, looking around at the deserted parking lot.  Delilah made no move to get out, instead stretching out on the back seat, kicking off her new pumps.  Dean leaned his head inside and looked at her.

“You sitting this one out?” he asked her.

“Getting kind of tired of the bickering to be honest.  I’m going to look up what else around here could possibly have cement walls and corrugated metal doors.  Maybe we’re looking at the wrong place.”

“Here.” Delilah looked up in time to catch the keys Dean had tossed her.  “Keep an eye on my Baby, yeah?”

She gave him an exasperated stare, “Should I give her a wax and shine too?”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, half serious, with a little smile pulling at his lips, “It’s raining.”

He closed the driver’s door and walked away, his long overcoat flapping in the gusty wind.  Sam was waiting for him by the door, under the small overhanging roof.  They disappeared into the building looking like a couple of catalogue models in their Target clothing.

Delilah settled back down on the backseat, leaning against the door.  She pulled the gun Sam had given her out of her bag and checked the clip.  She was only somewhat surprised to find that he had loaded it with iron, devil’s trap bullets.  Thirty years of hunting monsters probably came with some hardcore instincts.  She jammed the clip back in and put the gun down on the floor of the car, within easy reach, in case she needed it.  The angel blade she had taken off when she had changed into her own Target outfit: black polyester spandex pants with one of those mock tops, made to look like she was wearing a black knit sweater over a blouse.  She kept the thick, black, pressed wool-like winter coat on to keep herself warm.

Barely ten minutes had gone by when Sam tapped on the window.  Delilah sat up and cranked it down.

“We found three units in an isolated part of the storage complex.”  He pointed to the larger of the two buildings, the one across the parking lot from where the Impala was parked. “All rented by a D. Webster.”

She looked at him skeptically, “As in Daniel Webster?  That’s lame.” Sam smiled at her. “What?” she asked him.

“Nothing.  Anyways, Dean went to check out another storage locker with the clerk, back there.  Wanna be my backup?”

Delilah smiled, the distance that had recently appeared between them dissolving in an instant.  She stuck her feet back into her shoes, grabbing the gun from the ground, and got out of the car.  She tucked the gun under her coat, the metal cold against the skin on her lower back. They hurried to the door of the second building, Sam picking the lock expertly, both of them slipping inside unseen.  They walked through long, never ending corridors of cement blocks, the colour changing when they changed sections.  They reached corridor Q: the walls were a dirty grey and the lighting was dim and creepy.

“Yeah, this totally isn’t a demon cell block.” Delilah said sarcastically, looking at the dingy, grease streaked window at the end of the hall.

Sam walked up to the last door and looked at the locking mechanism beside it.  Delilah came to stand beside him.  “Can you pick it?”

“Should.”

He pulled out his lock picks again, Delilah glancing down the hall to make sure they weren’t watched; the one camera in that hallway was pointed in the wrong direction.  The metal door suddenly opened, the grinding screeching sound startling Delilah, and she turned to look at it.  It stopped halfway up and she heard muffled shouts coming from inside.  She crouched down at the same time as Sam and looked in: bound and gagged was a small shape, lit up by the hallway light behind them.

“Ms. Tran!” said Sam, charging inside.  Delilah made to follow him, but Sam turned around.  “Keep a look out, Delilah,” he told her.

She pulled her gun out from the waistband of her pants and held it in both hands, pointed at the ground, her finger along the barrel.  She continued to listen to Sam as he spoke to Kevin’s mom.

“Ms. Tran, it’s me.  It’s Sam.  It’s ok.”

“Sam,” a weak, weepy voice said, filled with relief.  Delilah could hear the sounds of metal clanking on metal, like a heavy chain being shifted around. The woman’s voice continued, “We have to get out of here, before it comes back… Is Kevin with you?” she asked, her voice gaining some strength.

Delilah swallowed hard, looking at the end of the hallway where it turned back towards the rest of the building.  Suddenly the metal door fell back into place, making Delilah jump.  She pressed her hands against it, the gun still firmly in her hold, and tried to push it back up, but it was locked.  She banged on it calling out to Sam.  She heard him grunt as he tried to open the door from his side too.

“Damnit!” he shouted, hitting the door loudly.

“Sam!  What happened?”

“There’s a camera in here.  Whoever’s keeping Ms. Tran captive, must have locked the door remotely.”

“What do I do Sam?  I can’t pick this lock.”

“Go find Dean.  I’ll try to get us out from in here.”

“I’ll be right back, Sam.  I promise.”

She took off down the hallway, trying to steer clear of the cameras.  She was hoping that the demon hadn’t spotted her before.  She pulled out her phone and called Dean’s number.  On the fourth ring it sent her to voicemail, “Fuck!  Dean, listen.  The demon is on to you.  Sam is trapped with Ms. Tran in corridor Q.  If you get this before I find you, go help him.”  She made it out of the building, no obstacles and no more locked doors keeping her in and she ran full out in the pouring rain across the parking lot.  She ran into the main office, stopping to orient herself.

There didn’t seem to be anyone manning the customer service counter and Delilah wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.  She looked at the map on the wall.  Luckily, there only seemed to be one hallway to this storage building.  She hurried to the heavy steel door behind the desk and pulled it open.  The lighting in this part of the facility was brighter than in corridor Q.  She gently closed the door behind her, trying not to make a sound, in case the demon was around.  She raised her gun in both her hands again, this time pointing it straight ahead of her as she looked beyond it at the empty hallway.  She listened, straining her ear to detect any sound she could, worried that there was no sound at all.

She walked slowly down the hallway, completely focused on finding Dean.  As she neared the middle of the narrow space, she could just make out a voice she didn’t recognize.  She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could tell he was somewhere near the end of the hall, probably inside one of the units.  The muffled voice became louder and she noticed one of the doors was open.  She moved up to it, now hearing a painfully familiar, low gruff voice answering and she knew, Dean was inside.  She flattened herself silently against the thick cement block wall next to the open doorway to the unit, the gun pointed up as she tried to figure out the best way to go.

From inside, a high, whiny voice spoke, “Do you know how long it’s been, since I’ve done this?”  Delilah heard a low grunt and her system pumped with a shot of adrenaline.  She rolled from her position beside the opening and lowered the gun, pointing it straight into the room as she walked in quietly.  Her brain registered and dismissed a thousand tiny details: shelves filled with various unimportant things, the body on the floor, slit throat, blood pooling away to the middle of the room, Dean sitting against a column, hands tied behind his back, fresh blood running down his neck, his fiercely green eyes.  Her eyes locked on the crouched shape of a man wearing the red and black colours of Castle Storage.  He was holding a blood stained knife inches away from Dean’s face.  She couldn’t shoot him like this, he was too close to Dean.

“I thank you,” the demon’s voice sounded as excited as a virgin seeing his first breast, “For reminding me what I truly am.”

“Hey perv boy!” Delilah shouted and as he turned and straightened up, she took a deep steadying breath, aimed at his head and squeezed the trigger.  Dean flinched as the body fell to the ground beside him, a trickle of blood oozing out of the bullet hole neatly lodged in the centre of his forehead.

Delilah rushed to Dean and fell to her knees beside him, putting down the gun.

“Don’t worry princess,” she told him breathlessly with a smirk, the adrenaline making her silly, “I got you.”

She finished untying the rope and his hands went up to her face, “I’ma let that one slide, ‘cause that was so goddamned sexy.”

He slammed his mouth over hers and shifted her into his lap, kissing her repeatedly.  The energy flowing through her system quickly switched from fear to excitement and she kissed him back enthusiastically, balling his coat in her fists, letting herself get carried away with her relief.

The sound of hurried footsteps scuffing to a stop behind her made her pull away and turn around.

“Well it’s a good thing we weren’t waiting for you to come help us or anything,” Sam said.

Delilah looked away embarrassed and came face-to-face with Dean’s ear-to-ear grin.  The idiot was enjoying himself.  All she wanted was to go back to kissing him, to give in completely to her basic instincts, but she resisted.  Instead, she stood up, out of his lap, and reached down with her hand to help him to his feet.  He picked up her gun from the floor and gave it back to her, slipping the safety back in place, his fingers brushing her hand, making her shiver.  He looked up and his smile disappeared as he focused on the person standing beside his brother.  Delilah tucked the gun back into her pants’ waist as she turned around and got her first good look at Kevin’s mom.  She was a small asian woman with shoulder length black hair and a stern and dignified look on her face, regardless of the dirt on her skin and clothes.  She was standing ramrod straight and her eyes were bright and alert, even after months of living in the dark and being tortured.  Delilah felt only awe for her as Ms. Tran looked down at her former captor lying on the ground, like she was imagining all the pain she could inflict on him.  The woman was terrifying.

“Ms. Tran,” Dean said, “Are you alright?”

“That’s a very stupid question to ask, considering the circumstances.”  Dean looked at his feet, awkward and ashamed, and Delilah liked Kevin’s fierce mom.  She looked back down at the demon, “Is it dead?” she asked.

“No,” Delilah answered, “Just knocked out.  He won’t be able to move either when he does wake up.  Devil’s trap lodged in his skull.”

Ms. Tran nodded her head and Sam and Dean each grabbed one of the demon’s arms and sat him down on a chair.  Sam slapped him across the face and he woke up with a start.  He tried to move, but couldn’t and he looked around at them, panicky.

“What did you do to me!?”

Dean pulled his demon killing knife from where it was hidden up his pant leg and pointed it at the hipster demon asswipe.

“You should be more worried about what we’re gonna do to you,” he said threateningly.

“Do it,” the demon answered through clenched teeth, “Kill me.”

“No, we’re saving you for someone else,” Sam said, deadly cool.

The demon looked from the brothers to her, “Crowley,” he said, apprehensively.

Sam looked at him with a vengeance in his eyes that made Delilah shiver, “Much worse,” he said.

Dean flipped the knife, holding it by the blade towards the space behind his brother, “Do the honours, Ms. Tran.”

She stepped out from behind Sam and grasped the handle of the demon knife.  “With pleasure,” she said not breaking eye contact with the demon.

“Hey.  Lady.  I swear,” he started, panic rising in his voice, “I was just following ord…”

The small woman didn’t wait for him to finish his excuses, she plunged the knife into his chest: yellow electric current running under the demon’s skin as the life crackled out of him.  She yanked the knife back out and handed it back to Dean, who took it gingerly.

“Take me to my son,” she said, completely emotionless.

She turned around and walked out of the storage room.  Sam threw a strained look at Delilah and his brother, then followed Ms. Tran down the hallway.  Dean looked down at the demon and wiped the blood off his blade before tucking it in his belt.  Delilah looked at him, she was feeling tired now that the rush of danger was gone, and she noticed the mess of blood all over his neck.  She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and walked up to him, pressing it against his cut.  He hissed through his teeth and tried to pull away.

“Hold still you big baby,” she said.

“Gah!  I think Sam’s more gentle than you.”

She gave him a look and rolled her eyes, pulling the blood stained tissue away from his skin, to see what the damage was.  There was a long shallow cut from just below his ear to his tendon, blood still oozing out of it.  “It’s not very deep, should stop bleeding if you put a little pressure on it.  We can get you cleaned up in the car.”

Dean put his hand on the tissue and Delilah pulled hers away.  She looked up at him, noticing a dark bruise on the side of his head and a nasty cut over his eye.

“I’m not the one who got hurt, Dean,” she said in a small voice.

He looked down at her, “I thought you were staying in the car,” he said gruffly.

“It’s a damn good thing I didn’t.  You were seconds away from being bled like a pig.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to stop hunting, Dean.  Kevin’s mom is safe now because we helped her.  We did that.”  He kept looking at her, not interrupting her for once. “I know hunting is dangerous, and I know I still have a lot to learn, but I won’t learn it locked away with a bunch of books.”

“I hate the idea of you in danger, Lilah.  It makes me sick when I think about it.” His hand hovered over his stomach for a second before closing into a fist and dropping back to his side and Delilah understood perfectly that knife twisting fear.  She’d felt it more than once.

“The bunker is a false security.  Just because I’m there won’t stop me from getting hurt, or killed… Look at what happened to Kevin.”  Dean looked away, grinding his teeth.  She took a step closer again and turned his head back to her gently.  “I can’t stand that maybe, while I’m ‘safe,’ you could be out here, hurt or dying, and I would be too far to come help you.”

She felt Dean’s arms wrap around her waist and he held her against him, his cheek pressed against her hair.  Delilah leaned into him, her hand resting on his chest and she felt a tear roll down her cheek, a delayed reaction to the rush of adrenaline, the relief of him being alright and the stress of trying to express herself clearly.

After a minute or so, Dean pulled away and kissed her tenderly before taking her hand in his and walking back out to the car where Sam and Kevin’s mom were waiting.

⭐


	3. Crazy On You

Delilah watched as Sam and Dean walked down the steps to the bunker door and disappeared inside.  She and Ms Tran were giving them a few minutes to prepare Kevin.  They had spent the night at a motel, ignoring Ms. Tran’s demands to see her son right away.  Sam and Dean had explained to her what had happened to Kevin and how he died.  Dean’s composure had slipped mid-way through the retelling and he had walked out of the room.  Delilah filled in what happened after the possessed Sam had left, told her about the hunter’s funeral and how special Kevin was.  When they were done, Kevin’s mom stood up without a word and went to the other room they had rented.  When Delilah had gone to join her a little later, the tiny woman was lying on her side with her back to the room.  If she wasn’t sleeping, it was clear she didn’t want to talk.  The next morning they had piled into the Impala, quiet.  None of them had really gotten much sleep.

Delilah guided Ms. Tran down the bunker steps.  Sam and Dean were in the library, Kevin’s back turned to them.  Delilah stopped next to the world table, where the boys had left their bags, and Kevin’s mom slowly walked towards her son’s ghostly form saying his name, sobbing.  Delilah put her bag down on a chair and draped her two coats over the back.

Sam and Dean turned around and headed out the back door of the library and Delilah headed out towards the kitchen, to give mother and son privacy for their reunion.  She walked down the steps into the hallway and then down the other ones beside the kitchen door before she was overwhelmed by everything that had happened, memories of the night Kevin died made fresh again, and she sobbed quietly, sliding down the wall clutching at her stomach and ending up sitting on the steps.

A pair of booted feet appeared in front of her and she tried to wipe away the tears.  She hated crying in front of people, she didn’t want to be dismissed as just another emotional girl.  Dean sat down beside her and she glanced at him through her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she found herself saying, the apology an ingrained reflex, a leftover from her tortured adolescence, “They just won’t stop.”

Dean wrapped her in his arms, “It’s ok,” he said, “I got you.”

Echoes of her return to the bunker after she had escaped the angels flashed through her head and she gave in, letting him hold her until the tears stopped a minute or so later.  She raised her head, looking into Dean’s sorrowful face; he was undoubtedly remembering the night his friend died too.

An image of Sam popped into her head suddenly and she felt guilty that they were there, comforting each other, while Sam was left to deal with everything on his own.  She asked Dean where he was and he tilted his head towards the kitchen, letting go of her hand when she stood up from the steps.  She turned back a second at the kitchen door, watching him a moment, sitting on the steps, his face in his hand, leaning his elbow on his knee.  She rushed back to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning up against his back.  He brought up his hand and patted her arm.  She kissed his cheek and stood up again.

She found Sam sitting at the kitchen table staring blankly ahead, lost in his thoughts.  Delilah sat down next to him and took his hand in both of hers.  He looked at her and gave her a strained smile.

“We found her Sam.  Kevin can rest easy now,” she told him, trying to give him some comfort.

He shook his head, “He’s stuck down here until Heaven is fixed.  A ghost in the veil.”

“He seems to be ok though.  He’s still acting like himself.  It’s Kevin.”

Sam turned his head towards her, “I know.  The thing is though that ghosts in the veil have a very warped view of the world; they see what they want.”  He paused looking up at the bare wall, “I’ve hunted a few vengeful spirits that had started out watching over loved ones, and ended up killing and hurting people thinking they were protecting them.”

Delilah absorbed this, failing to imagine how Kevin could ever possibly become vengeful.  “This is Kevin though.  He knows about this stuff.  He’ll be fine, right?”she asked, hesitantly.

“Has Dean told you about Bobby?” he said, turning back to look at her.

She shook her head. “You’ve both mentioned him before, was he a hunter?”

Sam bent his head and covered his eyes with his hand.  Obviously, this Bobby had meant a lot to him.  He told her about the rough and tough South Dakota man that had been in their lives since they were kids; a second father figure in their turbulent lives. He had sometimes taken care of them, when their father had gone off on a dangerous hunt, given them advice as they had grown old enough to hunt themselves, and patched them up more than once when they had been on death’s door.

Bobby had died a couple years before, a casualty of their dangerous lifestyle.  He’d come back as a spirit though, regardless of them burning his body.  He had been tethered to an old flask of his that Dean had started carrying around.  Even he, an experienced hunter, could not stop turning vengeful when they hunted the creature that had killed him, an ancient monster called Leviathan that had escaped from purgatory and tried to take over the world, turning humans into lunch meat.

When Sam was done talking about Bobby, they sat there in silence as the minutes passed.  She was lost in her thoughts; Bobby, their mother, father, Garth – in a way, Kevin… all people who had suffered or died because of the hunter’s life.  All people Sam and Dean had lost.  And she knew there must be more that she did not yet know about.

Dean interrupted her thoughts, popping his head into the kitchen.

“They’re leaving.  Kevin wants to say goodbye.”

Delilah let go of Sam’s hand and they got up, heading out to join them in the hall.  Kevin was standing by the foot of the stairs, Ms Tran up on the mezzanine, waiting, while he spoke to Dean.

“Are you sure about this Kev?  The longer a spirit stays in the veil, the harder it is to hold on to what’s real.  There’s a lot we don’t know about this Heaven situation.  It’s risky.”

“She was held and tortured for a year because of me,” he said, “Now that I found her, I’m not letting her out of my sight.” He paused.  “She’s my responsibility.”

“And you were ours,” said Sam, standing beside his brother.  Delilah stopped on Dean’s other side, slipping her hand in his, interlocking their fingers. “And we failed you.  I…”

“Sam,” Kevin interrupted him, “I know that wasn’t you.  Go put a blade in that asshat who possessed you and we’ll call it square.”

Delilah smiled sadly, reacting to Kevin’s own tentative smile, while Sam’s face twitched, but remained forlorn.

“Guys,” Kevin said, looking at each of them in turn, “Thank you.”

Dean spoke up, “You can thank us when we get you to Heaven, where you belong.  Okay?” He paused, nodding his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Till then enjoy your time with your mom.  The, uh, uninterrupted, 24/7, no-escape, quality time.”

Delilah rolled her eyes and nearly laughed, damnit Dean!  Kevin turned away, a wide smile on his face as he called Dean a dick and started to head towards the stairs.  He hesitated, then turned back towards them.

“Hey, before I go… will you guys promise me something?”  They all agreed without hesitation, but Kevin was looking at the brothers specifically. “Can you two… get over it?” Sam shifted uncomfortably.  “Dudes, just ‘cause you couldn’t see me, doesn’t mean I couldn’t see you.  The drama… the fighting… it’s stupid.”

Delilah looked up at Dean’s face, he was looking tearful as he absorbed Kevin’s words and he looked away.  Delilah looked back towards Kevin as he went on, “My mom is bringing home a ghost.  You two… you’re both still here.”

“Of course.  I promise,” Sam answered right away, clearing his throat. Delilah was filled with hope that the brothers would finally reconcile.

“Yeah,” Dean said solemnly and Delilah leaned her head on his shoulder.

Kevin smiled right at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.  To her he said, “I never had a chance did I?”  Delilah opened her eyes wide as both Sam and Dean turned to look at her and then back to Kevin.  He started laughing softly then winked at her, “Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you.  I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Kevin,” she said befuddled.

He smiled one last time then headed up the stairs to join his mom.  Dean stepped forward, keeping his eyes on Kevin and waving just before he walked through the doorway.  Delilah’s eyes were glued to mother and son as well, hoping his story would have a good, if belated, ending, worried again about what Sam had told her of vengeful spirits.

Dean started talking, turning to face his brother.  “Well, that was…” He stopped suddenly, looking confused.  Delilah turned to look at Sam, but he was gone.  Her stomach gave a lurch, what was Sam playing at?  She looked at Dean’s face and his eyes barely flicked towards her and then to the floor, looking like a beaten dog.  Delilah fumed.  Goddamn Sam!  She headed into the hallway, hoping to catch up to him to ask him what his problem was.  Dean followed her.  She heard the distant sound of a door slamming as they passed the junction with their rooms’ hallway and Delilah pulled up short, how could Sam be acting this way?  It wasn’t until she heard a second door slamming just behind her that she realized that this argument would take a lot more than just a few words to resolve.  She stared at Dean’s closed door; clearly he was telling her that he wanted to be alone. She headed for her own room, reluctantly leaving him his space.  She was filled with despair, at a loss for how to help them. Dean had spent his whole life, practically, taking care of his little brother and Sam was shutting him out completely.

She walked to her bed and stretched out on her stomach, hugging her pillow under her head as she continued to think about the brothers: Sam, her best friend, and Dean, her lover.  Would she ever not be torn between them?  The lack of sleep in the last couple of days and the stress caught up to her and she felt her eyelids closing by themselves.  It was only early afternoon, but _fuck it_ , Delilah thought as she gave in to the pull of morpheus… there had to be some advantage to living in a windowless dungeon.

 

_“I have to save him,” Dean’s voice echoed in her head._

_“Save who?” she asked the darkness all around her.  There was no answer, only silence and tenebrous night growing more oppressive as the air became thick and heavy.  She felt it closing in on her like an inky blanket, smothering her._

_“I have to save Sammy,” the disembodied voice said again, all around her._

_The pitch black continued to press down, and pressure was building up inside her head and her chest, squeezing her heart and constricting her lungs.  Her head felt like it was going to cave in._

_“I have to save you,” the whisper faded into the distance and suddenly the darkness pulled away from her in all directions like paint spilling back into its pot and she found herself in the library, only there were no walls and no ceiling, the floor and tables and bookshelves standing in the middle of a grey, barren field, storm clouds looming all around.  A cold wind picked up, spinning her around, or was it the room that was turning around her?  Suddenly, everything stopped and Dean was standing in front of her.  He took her face in his hands and kissed her.  Delilah closed her eyes, the feel of his lips heightened and making her skin tingle and her blood pump.  She was throbbing for him, lust taking over.  He pulled away and she opened her eyes.  Black ink was running up his cheeks disappearing under his closed eyelids, and Delilah was seized with fear as she took a step back._

_“Kill him,” Adriel’s incongruous little girl’s voice whispered right in her ear and Dean’s eyes opened revealing the darkness gathered within._

 

Delilah woke up disoriented and terrified.  She sat up abruptly, breathing quickly, her heart slamming until she recognized her walls, bed and furniture at the bunker.  She was still fully dressed and she somewhat remembered falling asleep earlier.  She scooted over to the edge of the bed, rubbing her face with her hands before reaching for her phone to check the time.  It was 9 pm.  She stood up and walked over to the sink in the corner, running the tap and splashing cool water onto her face.  When she looked up into the mirror, the face looking back wasn’t hers, but Dean’s with his black eyes.  Delilah startled, her dream coming back to her vividly.

What the hell was her subconscious trying to tell her anyhow?  It wasn’t the first time that she’d had disturbing sleeping visions of Dean.  Lately, they had mostly been related to the Cain and Abel stories but she’d been dreaming about him long before that.  Was her brain trying to warn her about something?  Delilah shook her head angrily.  To hell with this.  She knew Dean was no angel, ha!  What was the point of always throwing it in her face?

She made her way out of her room and walked through the bunker.  No one was in the kitchen, or the library.  The boys must still be moping around in their rooms then.  She grabbed her bag from the chair by the world table.  The duffels were now gone, so they both must have left their rooms at some point, probably out searching for food.

Delilah decided to go sit in her spot on the mezzanine and work.  There was still research to be done: angels to track down, a blade to locate and God knows what else that would throw itself in their path tomorrow.

It wasn’t much later that the sound of footsteps on the metal stairs pulled her from her notes.  She looked up as Dean’s head appeared behind the railing looking back at her.  As he walked towards her, she just watched him: his long graceful strides, his broad shoulders, his hands jammed in his pockets, his large, lash-lined eyes and full lips balanced by his chiseled jaw and chin covered in long dark stubble.  She could just look at him forever.  He sat down in the chair across the chess board from her, resting his ankle on his knee, slouching into a comfortable position.

“You doing ok there, handsome?” she asked him, giving him a half smile.

He huffed through his nose, smiling back at her, his eyes crinkling, “I suppose.”

His face slowly reverted to his quiet brooding look and Delilah sighed.

“Is this about Sam?” she asked him.

“Mmmmm,” he replied.  “Sam, and Kevin and his mom, the angels, Metatron, Abaddon, Crowley, this mark,” he raised his right arm in the air and put it back down again.  “I just think we’re due for a win for once.”

He leaned his head back against the head rest, looking off towards the library.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to reassure him.

“Yeah,” he responded, not sounding convinced. Then he shook himself and leaned forward, putting his foot down.  He pulled a folded paper out of his back pocket then rested his elbows on his knees, unfolding it.  “In the mean time,  I found a case.”

Delilah raised her eyebrow at him and leaned forward to take the paper he was handing to her.  So that’s what he had been up to locked away in his room.  She looked at it, returning to her position: legs curled under her, leaning back to the side of the chair.  She was looking at an 8x11 selfie of a smiling teenage girl.  There was a tall, disturbingly out of place figure standing behind her over her shoulder, dressed all in black.  Its face looked like a cross between warped clay and intensive burns, but without the redness.  It had no eyes, mouth or nose, just twisted skin stretched over the features.

“What the hell is that?” asked Delilah.

“Dunno.  It could be a ghost caught on film.  All I know is that it was leaked from a crime scene.  Girl was murdered in her room and that’s one of the last pictures she took with her phone.”

Delilah looked at him, his forehead wrinkling as he looked up at her.  “That’s kinda fucked up.”

“That’s what we do, here,” he said, humourlessly, slapping his knees and standing up again. “We are the _kinda fucked up_ specialists.”

“Where was this?”

“Washington.”

Delilah nodded, thinking about the thousand miles, feeling her stomach flip.  “Are you doing this solo?”  Dean looked down at her, thinking, his jaw working.  Delilah handed the picture back to him, frustrated, but too tired to have this argument again. “Never mind,” she said, reaching for her tablet again, to return to her research.

Dean took the paper from her and refolded it.  She was trying to ignore him, standing beside her, not saying anything.  She knew she was doomed when she realized she hadn’t understood a word of what she was reading, her whole body tingling from his stare.

She felt his calloused fingers on her cheek, and nearly startled as he gently ran them down her jaw to her chin.  She closed her eyes, feeling his warm touch on her skin.  He gently pulled the tablet out of her hands and laid it on the chess board.  He took her hand and pulled her forward, off her chair.  She finally looked up at him as she straightened up, his green eyes looking at her sweetly as he pulled her closer, slipping his hand into her loose hair and holding her nape.  She angled her head as his lips came down on hers and she sighed, melting into his touch.  She would never get enough of this.

Her hands came up, holding him just above his hips as she pulled on his lower lip, playfully.  He pulled away slowly, and looked down at her, holding her face in his hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice rough.

Delilah was stunned, she figured she probably looked like a mess; no make up, unbrushed hair, her t-shirt and jeans all wrinkled from sleeping in them.  She was a tomboy at heart, and never really thought of herself as beautiful in the classic sense.  She kissed him again, overwhelmed by her feelings for him, her need to have him pressed against her. She pulled on his hips, his hands holding her face as their mouths wrestled for dominance with lips, tongue and teeth.  His arms wrapped around her waist and she could feel his intensity growing too as he held her more tightly, and kissed her more forcefully.  A low throb started down between her legs, sending a tingling through her.  She pulled away from his mouth, breathing heavily.  He kissed down her throat and nipped at her collarbone.

“Maybe, we should take this somewhere more private,” she managed to say, glancing around at the quiet main hall of the bunker.

He kissed a line back up to her jaw and pressed his mouth to her ear, his voice a seductive rumble as he asked, “Your place, or mine?”

She would’ve laughed, if she hadn’t been so turned on.  Idiot.  She grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her as she made her way to the stairs and down into the main hall, past the ever glowing world map table.  He pulled her back and kissed her again, pressing her against the wall by the hallway stairs.  He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips, running her hands along his shoulders and up his head, into his short cropped hair as his mouth left a trail of wet kisses on her neck.  She pulled his head back and kissed his lips again, licking at him, his mouth tasting faintly of whiskey.

“At this rate,” she said, between kisses, “we’re not going to make it to either of our rooms.”

Dean growled and pressed into her, the idea clearly not bothering him.  He rolled his hips, against her and she moaned softly in his ear, knowing exactly how he would feel sheathed inside her.

She uncurled her legs from around him, eager to be naked and tangled up with him.  She moved to the side, grabbing his face, and pulled him down for a forceful kiss.  She released him and walked down the steps.  Dean caught up to her and grabbed her wrist from behind, pulling her against him, pressing up against her back.  He brushed her long hair aside and kissed her shoulder as one arm held her around her waist and the other hand slid down her front and into her jeans.  He stroked her sex through her panties making her knees weak.  She pulled away from him again and she hurried on down the hallway, turning right at the junction to their rooms.  She moved on, past his door and reached for her door knob.  Dean grabbed her again, but she opened the door and walked in, followed closely by him.  She lost no time at all shedding her clothes, as Dean swung the door shut behind him with his foot.

Only panties and bra left on her, she turned to him.  His lips came down on hers again and she slipped her hands up his chest and along his shoulders, pushing his mustard yellow shirt down his strong arms quickly.  He freed his hands from the fabric and cupped her ass, pulling her against him, his hands hot against her nearly bare skin.  She yanked his black t-shirt up, bending down to kiss up his torso, teasing his nipples with her tongue and nipping at him.  He discarded the t-shirt too, but Delilah was already attacking his belt, unbuckling it and untying his jeans.  She pulled them down along with his boxer briefs, exposing his proudly erect cock.  Dean stepped out of his pants, kicking off his boots at the same time, and kissed her again, as she backed towards the bed, pulling him along.  She turned him around, making him sit on the edge of the mattress and she quickly kneeled between his legs.

He looked down at her, his eyes boring into hers, his lips parted.  She gave him a smirk and turned her attention to his hard cock, curving back slightly towards his stomach, a glistening bead of pre-come just waiting for her tongue.  She smoothed her hands up his muscular thighs and pressed into the muscles as she moved forward and licked him from base to tip, tasting his unique saltiness.  She lowered her mouth around him and sucked, hearing him take a sharp breath and groan, the sound encouraging her to go down again, taking as much of him in her mouth and down her throat as she could.  She bobbed her head up and down, rolling her tongue around him and enjoying the soft throaty sounds and sighs escaping from his lips.

He put his hand on her nape and pulled her up towards him.  She climbed onto his lap, her knees on either side of him and he kissed her, holding her against him.  He undid her bra and slid it off her, lowering his mouth to take her nipple, rolling the other between his thumb and finger.  She moaned when he grazed her with his teeth, her whole body pulsing with her desire as she held onto his shoulders.  He turned and tilted her back, laying her on the pillows.  He kneeled over her as he ran his rough hands over her smooth skin down to her hips.  He hooked his fingers and pulled her panties down her legs, tossing them to the side.  He covered her with his hand, curling a finger along her slit.  She writhed, trying to get him closer.  She closed her eyes and he slipped a finger inside.  He pulled out and pushed back in, adding a second digit and sinking in to his knuckles.

“Fuck,” she said, feeling the heat building and her juices running down.  She was losing herself to the feel of him, prying pleasure out of her.  When she felt his hot breath on her, she moaned and she hissed in air sharply when his tongue flicking her clit, sending shockwaves to her core.  He licked her, still pushing his fingers in and out and she felt the passion burning deeply inside, her toes curling into the sheet.  His lips closed around her hardened nub and her breath caught as she tried to suppress a twitch.  She opened her eyes and looked down at him between her legs.  He looked up as he sucked on her and the combined effect of his stare and the ecstasy coursing through her was almost too much.  She dropped her head back and closed her eyes tightly.  Oh God, let her die now.

He moved up and covered her body with his, kissing her, his tongue slipping past her open lips and she could taste herself on him.  She grabbed hold of his neck and held him down, kissing him wantonly, her whole body screaming for release.  She pulled away again and breathed into his ear, “Fuck me.”

Dean growled and slammed his mouth down on hers again, lifting her hips and thrusting into her tight pussy.  She cried out in pleasure and he thrust into her again and again.  She pulled her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, feeling him sink deeper as he dropped his head to her shoulder and grunted from his efforts.  She pulled on him with every thrust, her body meeting his as they crashed together, heaving and pushing and squeezing and moaning.

He kneeled up, her legs releasing him, and he grabbed her hips, pushing in and out like a jackhammer.  Delilah gasped and moaned, so close to coming, the heat and pleasure building up inside her ready to burst.  And then she exploded, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing through her and she called out his name, her whole body tensing, her fists clutching at the sheets as he kept up his relentless pace.  And suddenly he pulled out and she felt his hot seed spilling onto her stomach as her orgasm slowly receded, leaving her feeling sated and sluggish, trying to catch her breath.

He swung her leg around and stretched out alongside her, reaching for a tissue from the box on the shelf above the headboard.  He wiped up his mess and tossed the soiled tissues into the garbage bin.

He lay on his side, his arm curled under the pillow and she turned her head towards him.  He was watching her, a smile just pulling at his lips.  She turned onto her side too to face him, mirroring his position.  She looked down at his kiss swollen lips and reached for him, laying her hand on his face, her thumb on his lower lip.  He leaned forward and kissed her long and sweetly, Delilah stroking over his jaw and down his neck.  When he pulled away, she felt sad, remembering that he was leaving on a hunt, and who knew when he’d be coming back.

“When are you leaving for Washington?” she asked him.

He looked at her and pulled her towards him, tucking her head under his chin.  “It can wait until morning.”

She nodded, distractedly petting his smooth chest with her fingers.  “I want to go with you, Dean.  Especially if Sam is not going to back you up.”

He tilted her head back, holding her face in his hands and looked at her.  “Ok,” he said after a moment and kissed her again.

Relief coursed through her: she wouldn’t have to stay behind.  She could keep an eye on him, keep him safe.  He reached behind her and pulled back at the sheets and they settled under them, Dean lying on his back, his arm curled around her as she pressed into his side, one leg over his.  Regardless of her afternoon nap, she was asleep in minutes, her head blissfully free of nightmares, or dreams of any sort.

⭐


	4. #THINMAN

They got up the next morning and prepared for the possibility of a long hunt.  The drive there alone would take a day and another to come back, so Delilah packed for a week, including a few more dressy outfits to go with Dean’s FBI schtick.  As she pulled an extra pair of jeans and a few t-shirts out of her dresser, a familiar piece of fabric caught her attention.  She pulled on the soft flannel sleeve and found herself holding the shirt she had taken from Dean’s dresser back in November.  She rubbed it against her cheek, remembering some of the intense feelings she’d experienced then, after Dean’s departure.  She pondered idly about how many times her life had turned on a dime these past six months.  And what turns were waiting for her ahead.  Never a dull moment.

“You just about ready to g… is that my shirt?”

Delilah started guiltily as Dean walked into her room.  She looked down at the shirt in her hands and laughed softly.

“Yeah, sorry.  I borrowed it a while back and forgot to give it back to you I guess.”

She held it towards him and he stepped closer, taking it from her outstretched hand.

“I like this one, I wondered where it got to.”

“I like that one too.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at her and smiled.  It was just amazing how when he smiled he lost at least five years on his face.  He removed the shirt he was wearing, a plain khaki green thing, and slipped his arms through the grey plaid sleeves.  He held his arms out to the side and Delilah smiled in approval.  She walked up to him, grabbed the open edges of the shirt and pulled him down for a kiss.  “I’m just about ready,” she answered his earlier question.

“Awesome.  I’ll meet you in the war room.”

He gave her a quick kiss and walked out again, leaving Delilah smiling like an idiot.  She threw the last of her clothes into her travel case, tucked the angel blade and her machete in there as well and zipped it up.  She grabbed her messenger bag, that she had retrieved from up on the mezzanine earlier, and checked for her more day-to-day gear.  She still had Sam’s gun in there too.  She walked out of her room, turning off all the lights and heading out to meet Dean.

She heard him talking with Sam in the library and she put her suitcase down by the world table, grabbing her lined corduroy jacket from behind the chair where she had left it the day before.  She walked up the steps into the library, slipping her arms into her coat, and was surprised to see Sam shutting his laptop and putting it in his bag.

“Hey!” she said, curious, “You coming too?”

“That’s what it looks like,” he answered her tersely, not looking at her and walking out through the back door.

Dean turned around to look at her and she gave him a questioning look.  He shrugged, sounding as confused as she felt, “Don’t look at me!  Down is up and up is sideways with him.  I’ma go load the car.”

He walked past her and grabbed his bag and hers and headed up the stairs and out the door.  Delilah took a deep breath. “Well this is going to be a fun drive,” she whispered to the empty room before slinging her messenger bag across her shoulders and following after Dean.

Sam joined them not long after, settling himself in the backseat of the Impala without saying a word.  Dean and Delilah exchanged a look, then he climbed into the driver’s seat and Delilah went around to the passenger’s side, glancing back at Sam who was settling in with a Men of Letters file and his computer.  Dean turned the key, Baby rumbling to life, and he turned the car around expertly on the narrow road, heading out to the highway.

Miles and miles went by and no one was saying anything, the silence weighing down on Delilah as she stared out the window at the grey lit fields and woods north of Lebanon.  She reached over and turned on the radio, her hand straying to Dean’s thigh and squeezing it.  He gave her a smile and turned back to look at the road.

The trip was very peaceful overall.  They stopped for gas twice as well as for lunch and dinner, the whole time, Sam being very quiet.  Dean and Delilah too mostly stayed quiet, she was feeling a little awkward with Sam acting so strangely.  She settled for watching the countryside and towns and cities zipping by, especially liking the rolling hills and distant mountains of Wyoming.

Delilah took over driving for Dean after dinner.  He might have grown up in that car, but driving ten hours straight will take it out of anyone, and he crashed on the back seat, Sam joining her up front.  He had put his computer away and was staring out the dark window at nothing in particular.  She glanced in the rearview mirror at Dean’s sleeping face and back out to the road.

“You can change the music if you want, Sam.  I don’t mind.”

He turned to look at her, his face neutral.  “That’s ok, thanks.” She reached for the radio anyways, turning the knob to see if she could find something more to his liking.  He shook his head.  “You’re just going to piss off Dean.”

“Pfffft,” she said.  “Driver picks the music, remember?”

Dean chimed up from the backseat, “Yeah, but big brother rule trumps that one.  Turn that shit off.”

“Well, you’re not my big brother, so the music stays,” she said glancing in the mirror at Dean’s smiling face… the turd was just being a pain for the sheer fun of it.

“My poor Baby, reduced to playing alternative, folk, wanna be rock crap,” he mumbled.

She found herself smiling too at his silliness as Muse’s Madness poured out of the speakers.  As she drove on, she kept trying to get Sam out of his shell with talk about music and books, but it was no use and finally she gave up, concentrating on the dark interstate.  They pulled into Billings, Montana a little before midnight and she found a motel they could crash at.  There was a slight hesitation when Dean came back out of the motel office with two keys to one room, but they followed along, grabbing their bags out of the trunk and heading inside.

Dean had already dropped his bag on the first bed by the door and he was looking at his money clip, leafing through the bills.  She walked up to him, looking around the standard room wondering if he seriously thought they would be sharing a bed in the same room as his brother.  He turned to address her.

“I’m pretty wired.  Going to find a bar.  Wanna come see how much trouble we can get into?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Unlike you, Sleeping Beauty, I’ve been awake in a car for nearly sixteen hours.  I’m going to take a long hot shower and then pass the fuck out.”

He smiled at her and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips before heading out the door.  She heard the Impala roar to life again as he pulled away from the motel and back onto the road.

Sam scoffed, setting up his laptop at the small table at the back of the room.  Delilah dropped her bag onto the bed Dean had picked and riffled through it looking for a change of clothes for after her shower.  “What is it?” she asked him.

“Nothing.  Don’t mind me,” he said, plugging in the power cord to charge his computer.

“Seriously, Sam.  You can tell me.  We’re still friends, in case you’ve forgotten,” she managed to sound only a little bitter when she added, “Or can I only be happy with one of you Winchesters at a time?”

Sam turned to look at her, he was looking a little worried, “Sorry if that’s the impression you got.  I’m just adjusting.  I’m not used to…” He gestured, sweeping her and the door, suggesting her and Dean’s budding relationship.  “He’s different with you.”

Delilah nodded and yawned, suddenly feeling very tired.

“I get it.  I’m so used to seeing him sullen or angry, the mischief catches me by surprise.  But I like it.”

She smiled to herself thinking of his bursts of boyish teasing.  She looked back up to Sam, who was looking a little worried.

“Just remember, my brother is no saint.”

“What, and I am?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, finally pulling a half-hearted smile from the floppy haired Winchester.

She decided to hop into the shower before she fell asleep standing up.  She washed and relaxed her tired back and neck under the hot water pouring down from the shower head.  Then she fell into the bed by the door in her cotton shorts and tank top, her wet hair braided down her back.  She was awake barely long enough to register the sound of Sam typing away on his laptop and then dark, quiet sleep took over.

She woke up in the middle of the night, the yellow glow from the parking lot lights through the thin curtains letting her see the room clearly around her.  She couldn’t see what had woken her up, but she slowly became aware of a weight around her waist and a warm body pressed against her back.  She was also aware of the deep, even breathing coming from the bed next to them where Sam’s sleeping form lay on his back.  Sleep took over again and she gave in to it, safe in Dean’s arms.

When she woke up again, daylight was starting to creep in through the thin curtains.  She rolled over to find Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his boots.  She rubbed away the sleepiness from her eyes and saw that he was already dressed in his jeans and dark blue corduroy shirt.  He noticed she was awake and bent over her to kiss her.

“I’m going to get coffee and things for the road.  We should get going soon.”

“Okay,” she answered sleepily.

He smiled at her and kissed her again, taking his time, Delilah savouring the feel of him as she slowly became aroused.  He pulled away, just as she flicked her tongue past his lips, and he leaned to whisper in her ear, “The things I’d do to you if my kid brother wasn’t right there.” He slid his hand down her stomach suggestively then pulled away and gave her his devilish smile, before standing up and walking out of the motel room.

She was definitely aroused now, damn him!  That was going to distract her for the rest of the day.  Sam stirred in the other bed, groaning as he stretched.  Oh, that was not helping.  She threw off the scratchy motel blankets and headed into the washroom to relieve herself… in more ways than one.

When she came out, Sam went in and she got dressed in her torn skinny jeans from the day before and a navy blue and grey baseball shirt with three buttons she left undone, hoping her exposed cleavage would drive Dean nuts.  Fair payback, she thought.  He came back with coffee and doughnuts – the breakfast of champions and as soon as Sam emerged from the washroom, his hair perfectly in place, dressed in a simple light blue and white plaid shirt and jeans, they piled back into the car to drive the last 500 miles to Springdale.

~

Dean and Delilah pulled up to the large suburban house a little before lunch time.  They had just dropped off Sam at the sheriff’s station while they headed over here to interview the victim’s mother.  They had already checked in at the nearest motel in the next town, Delilah insisting on two rooms this time – no point in being subtle about sleeping arrangements.  They had changed into their FBI outfits, Sam threatening to barge in and get them if they took more than five minutes.  Dean had winked at his brother and responded with a stupid, “I only need one,” comment that made Delilah smack his shoulder.

She and Dean walked up the porch steps, and rang the bell.  He was wearing his charcoal suit with a dark olive green tie that made his eyes pop distractingly, even with the lack of bright sunshine.  She forced herself to think about the case as a red headed woman answered the door.  Dean flashed his FBI badge and introduced her as a forensics specialist, reprising her cover from Dodge City.  The woman showed them to her daughter’s bedroom.

Everything in the room was dark pink and white and flowered and meticulously decorated with framed landscape photos – no band posters or tacky movie star collages to mar the design.  Delilah wasn’t sure if this made the deep red stain on the closet carpeting more or less gruesome.  She decided that it probably would be the same effect regardless.

Delilah listened absently as the grieving mother told them about trying to scrub the blood out for hours and that she’d have to tear up the carpet her daughter had picked.  She turned away, definitely not liking working cases involving kids.  She pulled out the EMF reader from her blazer pocket and turned it on, getting a reading right away.  So ghost then, she thought.  Dean ran through the usual set of questions: did her daughter have any enemies?  Had she noticed anything strange at home?  Had the electricity been acting up or lights flickering?  It wasn’t until the mother mentioned not noticing cold spots, unprompted, that Delilah turned away from Casey’s desk, looking for clues to identify the vengeful spirit, and looked at the mother more carefully.  She seemed ordinary enough in her pink shirt and grey cardigan, what did she know about cold spots?

“Sorry,” said Dean, as Delilah drew closer. “Out of curiosity… Why do you mention cold spots?”

“I’m sorry, that must sound strange,” answered Mrs. Miles in her soft voice, “but, it’s been three days since… and the police have found nothing.” She was getting more agitated, something not quite right about the look in her eyes, like maybe she was grasping at straws, or maybe she was going a little insane.  “I’d have to sell my house to afford a private investigator… So, when the supernaturalists called…”

Delilah frowned, surprised, and Dean interrupted, “Whoa, uh, I’m sorry… the supernaturalists?”

The woman looked at each of them with a slight air of superiority, like she knew something they didn’t as she answered, “I know to the FBI it’s not exactly orthodox.” It took all she had for Delilah to keep her expression neutral; now wasn’t the time to blow their cover. “But these men had answers no one else had, and I… owe it to Casey… to listen.”

Delilah exchanged a slightly confused look with Dean, but then turned back to the mother nodding.  “These supernaturalists,” she said, “asked you about cold spots?” Mrs Miles nodded, and Delilah went on.  “Did they mention why?”

“Looking for signs of the paranormal, I suppose.”

She paused and Delilah didn’t think she could keep her confusion to herself much longer.  Of course she knew that she, Sam and Dean weren’t the only hunters out there, but she thought the whole point of playing FBI and everything else was to keep the general population from finding out about all this stuff creeping around the edges of normal.  Mrs. Miles went on, “They’re coming by today to take a look.”

“And did these… supernaturalists,” Dean said, holding on to his FBI composure expertly, “give you a name?”

“They called themselves Ed… something and Harvey, I think.”

Dean’s face twitched slightly and he looked like he wanted to hit something.  Delilah was alarmed, but he managed to thank Mrs. Miles, politely, for her time, leaving her his card in case she thought of anything else that could help and they left the house with grace.

It wasn’t until they got in the car and started driving away that Dean shouted, “Sonofabitch!” making Delilah jump out of her skin.

“What?” she asked him, angry that he had surprised her.

“I think I know who our _supernaturalists_ are.  Fucking piece of shit motherfuck…” he continued to swear under his breath, making Delilah shake her head.  When he was done he glanced at her, “Why don’t you text Sam, tell him we’re coming to pick him up.”

She did and Sam texted back that he was just wrapping up at the sheriff’s.  Delilah pulled out her tablet and started looking up the local deaths in town, trying to find who their mystery ghost could be.  They pulled up ten minutes later and picked up Sam who was standing by the road.

“What’s up?” he asked them as he sat down in the back seat.  “Did you find anything at the house?”

“We hit EMF in the girl’s room,” Delilah said. “So I’m looking up the recent deaths in town, see if there’s any of them connected to her somehow.”

“Yeah, but we have company,” chimed in Dean.  “There’s two assholes calling themselves _supernaturalists_ who poached our witness.”

“Supernaturalists?  Doesn’t sound like a hunter’s M.O.”

“Did you find anything out?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, sheriff is out hunting, but the deputy gave me access to the crime scene stuff.  So get this, the 9-1-1 call went dead at 11:59 and the coroner has the death at midnight, but the photo was posted around 2 a.m.”

“How?” asked Delilah, “Wait, was the phone in evidence?”

“Yeah, it was cracked like it had been dropped.”

“But the cops arrived just after midnight… how did the picture get posted?” Delilah frowned, returning to her tablet to hunt down the original posted picture.  She half listened as Sam went on to tell them that the deputy had seemed strangely open minded about the paranormal, suggesting the picture appeared online by _supernatural_ means.

Dean swore suddenly and pulled up in a diner parking lot, but it wasn’t until she heard Sam’s bemused, “Son of a bitch,” that she looked up.  They were staring at a white van parked near the diner’s main door.  She went back to her search on her tablet, not letting herself get distracted.  Sam and Dean opened their doors at the same time and climbed out of the car.

“I’m gonna stay here guys, keep working on this,” she said.

She didn’t think they had heard her as the doors slammed shut again.  Whoever these guys were, they were going to get their asses kicked if she knew the Winchesters at all.  A few more clicks and swipes and she found the forum that had posted the original picture, it was Delilah’s turn to say, “son of a bitch,” but no one was around to hear her.  She had stumbled upon a fan forum dedicated to a creature called Thinman.  There were thousands of sightings around the world, all of them of the same tall, thin, black clad, faceless man that had been in Casey’s photo.  She did a quick Google search on Thinman and fell on a website run by a group called _Ghostfacers_ who touted themselves as the world’s foremost supernaturalists and experts on Thinman.  They had even written a book on the subject.

Delilah glanced out the window at the white van and registered the black lettering for the first time.  The _Ghostfacers_ were in town.  She browsed their website trying to get more information on the creature, but everything was so uselessly vague; were these idiots really hunters? She stumbled upon a series of videos and clicked on the first one, leaning back on the door to stretch out on the front seat to watch.  These guys were so ridiculous, she thought as they rambled about fighting ghosts using needlessly dramatic voices and gesturing theatrically.  It was entertaining at least.  Suddenly, she sat up, startled.  She pulled back on the video band, backing it up, and then hit pause.  She couldn’t believe what she was looking at.  Pinned to a dart board were two pictures, two very young looking Winchesters, looking angry as hell… like they do.  She took a screenshot, unable to resist keeping the pictures for future ribbing, and went back to watching the video.

One of the _Ghostfacers_ , Ed, a dirty blond man with a neatly trimmed bear and dark rimmed glasses, mentioned their rivals which is when the pictures of Sam and Dean had appeared…

By the time the Winchesters got back to the car, fifteen minutes later, Delilah was in tears she was laughing so much.  Dean opened the door and sat down, glaring at her as she sat up, wiping a tear away.

“You wanna share with the rest of the class?” Dean asked her as Sam climbed into the back seat.

“These guys are a riot!” she said, turning the tablet to show Dean the _Ghostfacers’_ website.

“Yeah?” Dean said, turning the key in the ignition.  “Those fame whores are running around with cameras while people are getting hurt.”

Delilah smiled, thinking about the pictures on the dart board. “Well, if it’s any consolation, the feeling is mutual.  They do not like you.”

She pulled back the video bar again to the beginning of the video so the brothers could hear the rant.  They both burst out swearing when their pictures flashed across the screen.

“I do have a question though,” she said, turning around to look at Sam in the backseat while Dean pulled out of the parking lot. “What’s with the hair?”

Sam glared at her and she gave him her best _I’m adorable, don’t hate me_ smile before turning around again and putting her tablet away.  They returned to the motel to touch base, gathering in Sam’s room.  Delilah sat on the end of the bed, kicking off her pumps to sit cross-legged.  She watched distractedly as Dean took off his suit jacket and tossed it on the bed next to her, then loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt – the man was sex personified.  Sam was already sitting at the small desk by the window, firing up his laptop.

“Why do you think Ed and Harry say it’s not a ghost?” he asked his brother, snapping Delilah out of her daydream.

Dean huffed, “Because they’re douche wads who don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

“It might not be a ghost.” They both turned to look at her.  “Have you guys heard of Thinman?”

“What’s a thinman?” asked Dean looking perplexed, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Look it up Sam,” she said and he turned around to type it into the search engine.  “It looks an awful lot like what’s standing behind our vic in the photo.”

Dean turned to lean over Sam’s shoulder at the computer.  Sam let out a surprised, “Oh wow,” as he clicked on the picture of a jogger – a tall, black clad figure standing in the background.

“Those _Ghostfacers_ guys wrote a book about him, _The Skinny on Thinman_ ,” Delilah told them.

Sam opened a new tab and ran a search for the book.  Dean straightened up again, looking unconvinced.

“Looks like a Halloween costume to me… or Garth, if somebody shaved his face off.  Big whoop.”

“Ok,” said Sam, reading off his screen.  “Listen to this: _An urban legend started on the world wide web… lurks in the background of his victims’ lives until he’s ready to kill them._ ”

“Yeah,” mumbled Dean, “Cause everything started on the internet is true.”  He spoke louder as he moved to his bag, that he had put down by the table at the back of the room, and pulled out his laptop. “Like the shark attacking the helicopter.  They write a book on that one too?”  He put the laptop down on the table and turned it on.

“Are you this skeptical because you don’t like the _Ghostfacers_?” asked Delilah, “Cause they’re not the only ones who have seen this thing.  There are thousands of sightings posted from all over the world.”

“It’s like Thinman is the new Bigfoot or something,” said Sam, typing away on his computer.

“Or maybe, it’s just a ghost with a brand name,” pushed Dean.  “We did hit EMF in that room, right?” he asked, turning towards Delilah.

“Um, yeah, but I already looked into the local deaths and in the past six months, only three people died of unnatural causes… None of them were violent and none of them were related to Casey Miles in any way… so how did she end up the target of a pan-continental paranormal being?”

“Could be connected indirectly,” Dean mused, leaning on the chair back, waiting for the operating system to load.  “Sam, you remember that Bloody Mary case from way back?  That spirit was going after people who felt guilty about shit right?  And she was using mirrors to move from place to place, went almost anywhere.”

“Bloody Mary had to be summoned though, besides, we’re talking worldwide sightings here.  Spirits don’t just hop around that way,” Sam said, turning to face his brother.

“I know that,” answered Dean, “But the veil is all kinds of screwed right now, okay?  Ghosts could be popping up everywhere.”

“Yeah, but, Dean, Thinman sightings date back a couple years, the veil’s only been a problem for, what, the last eight months?”

“Well, you know, people still see Elvis all over the damn place.” Dean said angrily.  He pulled the chair out and sat down, disappearing behind his computer.  “Those fuckwits ain’t experts on shit.”

Delilah shook her head; when Dean had his mind set, it was impossible to make him see anything else, and right now his mind was too set against the _Ghostfacers_ to see anything they believed in to be even remotely possible.  Sam turned back around to his own computer, the dim grey light coming in through the window outlining his shadowed shape. She looked from one brother to the other, Dean’s eyes running back and forth as he read.  _Well_ , she thought, _at least they seemed to be talking now._

Delilah bent back down over her tablet to the Thinman fan forum Casey Miles’ picture had appeared on so mysteriously.  She started scrolling through pictures while Sam and Dean followed their own lines of inquiry: Sam reading the Thinman book and Dean obstinately looking up deaths in the area.  Delilah clicked on one of the pictures to enlarge it, frowning.

“Hey,” said Sam, to no one in particular. “So there have been a bunch of unexplained deaths pinned on Thinman: vic dies and couple weeks later a photo pops up of the vic with Thinman photobombing.”

Something about the photo she was staring at was bothering her.

“So Thinman’s stalking folks?” chimed in Dean, from across the room.

At first she thought the focus was off because the background was blurry but not Thinman, but when she zoomed in, the edges around the figure were just too clearcut.

“According to the lore…” started Sam.

 “According to the idiots,” Dean cut in.  “Besides, how come none of these vics pinged our radar?”

A fake?

“I’m pretty sure the mysterious deaths can be chalked up to non-supernatural causes.”

“Sam,” she said, stopping the back and forth as she stood up from the bed.

He hummed and slowly pried himself away from his screen to look at her. Still frowning at her tablet, she pulled the second chair from the table where Dean was sitting and dragged it to Sam’s desk.  She plopped herself down next to him, pulling her legs up to curl them onto the chair and handed him the tablet with the picture.

“I’m no photoshop expert, but that doesn’t look right to me.”

Sam took the tablet and had an instant frown to match hers.  “That’s because it’s a fake.  See the edges there?  Someone cut out this Thinman from another photo and put it in this one.”

He gave her back her tablet and pulled up some of the Thinman photos on his laptop.  Together they looked over the pictures on the forum and Sam showed her how, although some of them were much better quality, they all had tell-tale signs of forgery.

“So they’re all fake?” Delilah said, sitting back in the chair, perplexed.

“Ha!” exclaimed Dean, Delilah turning to look at him, startled.  “I told you it was all bullshit.”

“Not all of them,” Sam said. Delilah turned back around, looking at the photo that had led them here in the first place.  “Check this out.  This is Casey’s photo.”  Delilah leaned in again, and Sam pointed out the different clues that this photo wasn’t doctored like the others.  “Who or whatever that is, is really there.”

Delilah stared at Casey’s photo, the smiling girl looking back out at her, asking her why?

Dean spoke up again, “Ok, that doesn’t make any sense, I mean how can something be both fake and real at the same time?”

“A girl’s dead Dean…” she said, looking around at him.

“That’s about as real as it gets,” added Sam.

Dean leaned back, suddenly looking exhausted.  He closed his laptop cover and passed his hand over his face.  Delilah looked back at Casey’s photo on Sam’s screen, pulling up her knees, the girl smiling back at her, and she felt the exhaustion too.  It was like this case was laughing at her.  She hugged her legs and rested her chin on her knees.  She felt like the answer should be just there… yet it wasn’t, so many aspects of this made no sense.  They hit EMF, but no ghost, Thinman is fake everywhere but in Casey’s photo, the phone was safely stored, yet someone posted a picture from it post mortem.

She continued to brood, staring blankly out the window, trying to see the full picture when all the pieces were all over the place.  She sensed, rather than heard, Dean come up behind her and lay his hand on her shoulder.  She looked up and back at him as he squeezed her gently.  He was holding his bag in his other hand, the computer put away.  Sam glanced at his brother quickly, but went back to his computer, slouched in his chair, his chin resting in his hand.

“What do you say we get out of here?  Get some grub?  I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Sam mumbled.

“Come on, Sam,” Delilah pleaded, “Maybe we’ll think of something while we’re out.”

“There’s a saloon just down the road,” Dean added.

“Yeah, ok.” Sam said, shutting the lid to his laptop.

Delilah smiled and unfurled from the chair. She walked over to where she had left her shoes while Dean shrugged his suit jacket back on.  She grabbed her coat, and followed Dean out the door, hooking the strap from her bag as she went.  He unlocked the motel room, a couple doors down from Sam’s room, and disappeared inside.  Delilah walked in and shut the door behind her.  She dropped her bag and coat and kicked off her shoes again.

She looked up, aiming to get to her travel bag to pick an outfit, when she was stopped dead in her tracks.  She watched nearly hypnotized as Dean pulled the knot on his tie and slid it free from his shirt collar.  He was facing the back of the room, looking down next to the bed, where his bag was, his face neutral, lost in thought, as he undid his shirt buttons.  It was so, ridiculously erotic.  Delilah could feel her heart rate increase and a tingling in her lower belly.  She briefly considered resisting the urge to act on her lust, thinking of Sam, who’d be stuck waiting for them to go have dinner, but when Dean removed the shirt, exposing his bare back, the muscles squeezing as he moved his arms and shoulders, all reason went out the window.

She moved up to him and lay her hands on his lower back, his skin so warm, Dean stilling.  She smoothed her hands up his broad back, noticing scars she hadn’t seen before, wondering about the circumstances that had caused them.  She slowly reached up to his shoulders and swept down his arms, the muscles nicely defined in the lamplight.  She took another step and pressed herself against him, laying a kiss between his shoulder blades.  She ran her hands down his forearms and then back up his fabric covered hips.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him.

He turned to face her, and Delilah leaned up on her tip toes to meet his descending mouth.  The kiss became searing hot in seconds, Dean holding her firmly by the back of the neck, his other arm wrapping around her, holding her close.  Their mouths devoured each other, nothing in Delilah’s head but the feel of his lips, his tongue, his teeth, the taste of him in her mouth, the press of his body against hers.  She wanted more, always more.  She brought her hands to the front of his trousers and pulled at his belt buckle, unclasping it and pulling it free from the belt loops.  Dean started fumbling with her shirt buttons, managing two before he pulled away from her and asked her, his voice all low and husky, “How much do you like this shirt?”

“Right now, I fucking hate it,” she told him, attacking his pants, unbuttoning them and lowering the zipper, letting them drop, pooling around his feet.

He grabbed her shirt and yanked it, ripping it open and then pulling it down her arms, tossing the ruined garment across the room in his haste.  She crashed her mouth against his again, rubbing him through his boxer briefs.  Dean redoubled his assault on her mouth as he undid her pants and pushed them down her legs.  She stepped out of them, shaking one obstinate pant leg off and pushed Dean towards the bed.  He fell, crashing to the mattress, tripped up by his trousers, and Delilah pounced on him, straddling him with her legs and bearing down on his hard cock.  She rocked against him again, the friction through their underwear making her whole body quiver.  Dean groaned and squeezed her thighs when she did it again.  He sat up suddenly, grabbing her around her shoulders and laying her down on her back.  He moved to cover her body but turned back with a frustrated, “Damnit,” as he tried to shake off the pants that were still around his ankles.

He freed himself and lay his body on top of hers, kissing her over and over, wedging his knee between her legs.  Delilah ran her hands all over him, down his back and squeezed his firm ass.

“Please, Dean,” she breathed out against his mouth, pulling him against her.

He responded physically, roughly yanking down her panties, moving away from her while he did and coming back to settle between her legs.  He must have removed his own underwear too, and the unexpected skin-on-skin contact made her shiver with anticipation.  She drew her knees up, opening herself to him.  He didn’t need any clearer an invitation.  He looked into her eyes, hooked an arm around one of her knees, spreading her wide, and drove into her in one swift motion.  Delilah cried out and squeezed her walls around him.  He pulled back and pushed back in, setting a rough rhythm that made the headboard hit the wall loudly with each thrust.

Her orgasm was building as quickly as the passion had, seemingly coming out of nowhere, although she knew that really, it had been growing all day with every look of his eyes and brush of his fingers on her.  God! That she got to have him, like this, his throaty moans in her ear, his body crushing hers and his cock buried deep inside.

She came loudly, her orgasm catching her by surprise, Dean slamming his mouth down on hers to muffle the sound a bit as he continued to rock them with his hips.  Then it was his turn, pulling out just before his come spilled out.  Delilah grabbed him and massaged him through his own orgasm, until he was shaking from it.  When he was spent, he rasped out a heavy breath and flopped to the side, lying on his back to catch his breath.

Delilah sat up carefully, wiping up the mess on her skin with tissues from the box nearby, and looked down at his body, glistening with sweat.  She ran her fingers down the centre of his chest and he smiled, grabbing hold of her hand in his, lifting it to his lips to kiss it.  She bent down to kiss his lips, his other hand holding her face gently.

“I’m going to go wash up,” she told him.  “Care to join me?”

The mischievous twinkle was in his eyes again and she took that as a yes.  She took his hand and pulled him after her.  They both laughed as they stood beside the bed, shedding the clothes they had been too much in a hurry to remove: her bra and somehow one sock, his boxers still slung around one ankle.

When they finally emerged from the motel room, a good hour after they had gone to change, it was to find an empty parking spot where the Impala had been.  Delilah laughed at the frown on Dean’s face as he realized that Sam must’ve taken his car, fully aware of why they were taking so much time.  Delilah shrugged, too much in a good mood to be embarrassed, or care about a ten minute walk, and headed off down the road.  Dean came up beside her and took her hand, lacing their fingers together as they made their way to the saloon.

The Impala was parked out front of what was barely more than a shack. Dean walked in through the door unfazed; how many of these little roadside bars had he walked into in his life? Delilah shook her head just thinking about it.  She walked in behind him as he held the door open and she quickly scanned the half empty place, spotting Sam easily as he sat in a booth on the left side of the room.  He was picking at his plate and looking at his computer, still.

Delilah sat down opposite him in the booth. “You’re like a dog with a bone, Sam,” she said, as he looked up at her and Dean, who sat down beside her.

He went back to his screen, “Hanging out in motels is not my idea of fun.  The faster we figure this thing out the faster we can go back to the bunker.”

“So you can do more research?” asked Dean, a half smile on his face.

Sam tapped something on the keyboard and shut the lid, fixing his brother with an angry stare.  “Last I checked, that’s our job.  Angels, Metatron, Abaddon, First Blade… all that.”

Dean’s smile disappeared.  “Our jobs, but who’s paying us, huh?  Take some time to enjoy your life a bit, Sam.”

“Oh, is that some big brother advice?”

“Damn right it is!”

“Well, thanks,” Sam said, stuffing his laptop in his bag.  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

Just then the waitress walked up to the table, “Can I get you anything here?” she asked Dean and Delilah.

“The bill, please,” Sam said, abruptly.

“Aw, c’mon Sam, don’t be that way,” Dean exclaimed, but Sam ignored him, standing up to follow the waitress to the bar so he could pay.

What just happened?  One second Sam is fine, and the next he’s angry.  She looked at Dean’s face, he was frowning, looking angry himself, his little brother having thrown him into another anger spell.  Dean stood up and stalked off towards the washrooms at the back.  Delilah found herself sitting alone at the table, exasperated.  She saw Sam head out towards the parking lot and she scooted out from the table and ran after him.  She caught up with him as he was about to climb into the car.  She grabbed his coat sleeve, stopping him.

“What’s going on, Sam?  Honestly?”

“Nothing.  Don’t worry about it.”

Delilah let go his sleeve and sighed, “See that’s the thing, it’s obviously not nothing and yes I worry about it because we’re friends.”

“I don’t like wasting time.”

“You and I both know that when we’re stuck on something, we find the solution while doing something else.”  Sam was looking away, and Delilah felt frustrated.  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m here for Casey too.  I’m going back in there, I’ll have a nice dinner and when I’m done, I’ll come join you.  So we can work on it together.”

He still didn’t look at her, but he nodded his head, then climbed into the car, starting the engine with a roar.  She watched him leave and then turned around to go have dinner with Dean, her good mood gone as well.

⭐

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Ghostfacers! AJ Buckley and Travis Wester are so outrageously funny. You can watch the webseries they made as the Ghostfacers on Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/87444533


	5. Stairway to Heaven

_I just don’t trust him. I don’t want you to get hurt._

Sam’s words bounced around in her head.  It saddened her that after all these months, he still felt that way about his brother.  How broken must their bond be?  How will they ever fix it?

She and Sam had worked on the case well into the night, Dean leaving them be, but they did not find anything significant; he seemed to be just as stumped as she was.  They simply did not have enough information about the kind of creature Thinman was.  The lore changed from blog to blog with little to no common elements between victims.

She had gone back to her own room, low and preoccupied, and crawled under the covers made warm by Dean’s body heat.  What a strange feeling it had been to get into bed with him already there, fast asleep – there had been no intention other than to sleep herself, no arousal from an anticipated sex act or anything, even though she was intimate with him.  She had snaked an arm around his waist and leaned her head on the back of his shoulder, holding him like a teddy bear – a large, smooth, brawny teddy bear.  He had woken up enough to ask her if there was anything new.  She had reassured him that there wasn’t and he had fallen back asleep.  Kept awake by Sam’s words though, she had slowly pried herself away from him and now lay staring straight up, thoughts about the case mingling with preoccupations about Sam and his brother.  She alternated between staring at the ceiling and staring at the sleeping man beside her, listening to his deep even breathing, knowing that sleep would only bring her more terrifying and confusing nightmares.

Delilah grabbed her phone off the bedside table and looked at the time: 5 a.m. Sleep was overrated anyways. Time for coffee.  She slipped out of bed, part of her exhausted brain trying to explain to her why sleep was important and the other half continuing to wave it off.   She quickly got dressed in the dark, pulling her hair up into a messy bun.  She stuck her feet into her Drs, grabbed her bag and walked out, careful to close the door behind her gently so Dean wouldn’t wake up.

The morning air was brisk and the sky was pitch black.  She pulled her hood up over her head, trying to block at least some of the chilly breeze, jammed her hands in her jean pockets and headed west down the road.  She had noticed a tiny, rundown coffee house the night before when they had walked to the saloon and the building was now her destination.  She pulled the door open, the handle nearly coming off in her hand, and took a few steps into what resembled a mobile home, refurbished into a restaurant front with a couple of two seater tables and a long counter.  She shook her hood off and walked up to it.  She could see into the back room, one would assume the fry kitchen, through an opening in the wall.  A plump woman with long iron grey hair curling past her shoulders walked up to her, pulling out a pad and pencil from her apron.

“What can I get ya, sweetie?  The kitchen’s not quite ready yet, Irving’s having issues with the broilers again…”

“Would ya please stop blaming me for everything, woman?” a voice called out through the window, though she couldn’t see the man who spoke.

The woman turned around and yelled back, in a thunderous tone, “Well it was working fine before you fiddled with it, you brick.”

Delilah tried hard not to laugh when she ordered a coffee.  The woman, Fran, if the name tag was to be trusted, brought her a steaming cup and she thanked her, dumping a few spoonfuls of sugar in it.  Another customer walked in, attracting the woman’s attention and starting another spat of semi-abusive banter with the cook.  Delilah smiled, sipped at her coffee and pulled out her tablet, fully intending to throw herself at the problem again.  As she stared at pictures of Thinman on the fan forum, the noises around her faded, like she was wrapped in a bubble of concentration.  Fran occasionally refilled her cup as a steady trickle of regulars came and went around her.

Time passed.  She stared at a page of notes she had started, trying to group the facts by category.  Under ghost she had things like, EMF, locked room, no witnesses.  Under other she put all the facts that seemed to not work with a ghost, or that seemed unnecessary, such as, slit throat, no cold spots, no haywire electronics, no violent deaths, corporeal shape in photo and post mortem internet activity.

Delilah’s eyes were blurring.  She rubbed at them for the nth time, wishing that she had managed to get some sleep instead of obsessing over things she couldn’t control.  She flipped back to some of the photos on the forum.  What was it Dean had said?  A Halloween costume?  And hadn’t Sam shown her that the Thinman pictures were fake?  Except Casey’s… Delilah’s eyes grew wide as she scrambled to find Casey’s photo.  What if Thinman _was_ just an internet hoax?  What if _this_ Thinman was only the real deal because it was a costume?  Delilah’s mind reeled.  That would mean they were dealing with someone pretending to be Thinman… someone human.  It would explain why there were no electromagnetic disruptions in Casey’s house, also why he would use a knife.  It even explained to a certain extent how the picture got posted, the murderer could have done it.

“Shit!” she exclaimed out loud, drawing Fran’s attention.

“Everything all right dear?”

Delilah looked up and started packing her things away quickly in her bag.  She assured the woman everything was fine and left a twenty dollar bill on the counter.  She was out the door quickly before she could argue the massive tip.

Delilah practically ran back to the motel in the dawning light.  She burst through the door to the motel room she was sharing with Dean, only to find it empty.  She had clearly seen the Impala parked in its spot, so he must be with Sam then.  She closed the door behind her, figuring she may as well shower and suit up before joining them.  She wanted to go over the details of the crime scene with the local cops, see if the new angle would shed light on some of them.  Maybe she could convince one of the boys to have a look at the corpse with her.

She was laying out a fresh outfit on the bed, chuckling to herself as she picked up the thin striped shirt Dean had destroyed the night before when she noticed a blinking light on the bedside table.  She took a couple steps, threw the shirt into the garbage bin and grabbed her phone, realizing she had left it there while trying to leave the room quietly that morning.

She clicked the screen button and it lit up, announcing she had missed a call.  From Dean.  Shit.  She tapped his name to call him back.  After four rings, it went to voicemail and she put it down, confused, when suddenly the motel door opened, startling her.  Dean walked in.

“Sorry, I forgot my cell this morning,” she said to him as he walked up to her, “I couldn’t sleep so I wen…”

Dean grabbed her around the waist and kissed her forcefully.  She laid her hands on his chest and pulled away from his lips.

“Is everything ok?” she asked slipping her phone into her jeans as he leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

“Yeah,” he answered hoarsely.

He didn’t go on.  Delilah was feeling kind of confused, but chose to not push too hard.  He dropped his arms and took a step back.  Delilah noticed he was dressed in full FBI garb: navy suit and a tie with a dark red stripe.

“Did something happen?” she asked him.

Dean cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah.  Got a call from Deputy Norwood.  There’s another kill.”

Delilah jumped and headed for the bathroom, she called out over her shoulder, “Just gimme five minutes and I’ll be ready.”

He followed her in and she paid him no mind as she turned on the shower and started pulling off her clothes hurriedly.

“Why don’t you sit this one out, Lilah,” he said, clearing his throat again.

She just kept right on going, “Nope,” she called out as she stepped under the still cold water.  “Not gonna happen, agent.”  She grabbed the bar of soap and started running it all over herself quickly.

“So what’s your cover then?  Forensics are already on the scene… you wanna pit your bullshit against the real deal?”

“Why not?  Don’t think I can?” she asked, rubbing soap into her hands and then onto her face vigorously.

“No, I don’t.  And I won’t have you blowing our cover.”

Delilah was stunned.  She froze, rinsing the suds off her face.  _What the fuck? What was going on?_ She shook herself and turned off the water, it never actually having warmed up, and stepped out of the shower.  He was still standing there, one hand in his trouser pocket, looking angry.  Well, ego be damned, she was angry too and she glared at him, cold droplets running down her goosebumped skin.

“Hey, you guys just about ready to go?”  Sam’s voice called out from the room.

Delilah grabbed a motel towel and wrapped it around herself, stepping around Dean and out of the bathroom.  Sam was standing by the door dressed in a charcoal suit with a dark geometric patterned tie.  He frowned at her, looking confused.  She walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of undies, shimmying them up her legs and under the towel as Dean came out into the room too.  She refused to look at him as she dropped the towel, and deftly slipped on her bra, clasping it as she turned around to face the room in her underwear.  Sam was standing awkwardly now, looking at anything but her and Dean was glaring.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” She couldn’t believe these guys, how many times had they just stripped to their boxers around her without a second thought?  Fucking idiots.

She stomped over to the bed and threw on the outfit she had picked, a simple dark grey with white pinstripe trouser and vest combo with her blue dress shirt with the dipping neckline.  She put on her black pumps, pulling out her hair elastic and made her way back into the washroom to grab her hair brush.  She yanked it through her thick hair until it was smooth and then tied it into a ponytail.  Finally, she added a touch of make up, pulled her cell out of her crumpled jeans on the floor, and she was ready.

She walked back out, grabbed her black, faux pressed-wool coat she had bought in Wichita out of the closet and her bag off the floor and walked out the door, past Sam.  “Let’s go then!” she said before heading straight to the Impala, opening the back door and sitting down in the backseat.

She rummaged through her messenger bag and pulled out the Smith and Wesson Sam had given her, and her tablet, as the boys each opened a door and sat down on the front bench.  Delilah checked the cartridge: she was down to nine bullets since shooting the demon in Wichita, three?  four? days ago, and she hadn’t thought to top it off.  She checked the safety, could never be too careful, and tucked the handgun in her belt behind her.  They headed back to Springdale without another word.

They pulled up to the crime scene; police tape and a couple of the sheriff’s people milling around.  A woman wearing a forensics jacket walked into the door of the diner Delilah recognized from yesterday, when the boys had gone in to talk to the _Ghostfacers_.  She got out of the car with Sam and Dean, holding her tablet in one hand, ready to note down her observations.  She followed them towards the diner door and she noticed a young woman sitting on a little bench in front of the diner window.  She was staring straight ahead, her gaze unfocused as one of the deputies asked her questions.  He stood up when he noticed the trio arriving.  Sam and Dean pulled out their FBI badges before being asked.

“Deputy Norwood inside?” asked Dean.

“Yes, he is.  He’s overseeing the forensics team.  It’s pretty bloody in there.”

The girl on the bench sobbed loudly and stuck her face in her hands.  Dean frowned.

“She discover the body?”

“Yeah, haven’t been able to get anything useful out of her though, she’s in shock or something.  Waiting on the ambulance from Colville.  Should be here any minute.”

“Why don’t we let the rookie have a go at her,” Dean said.

It took Delilah a few seconds to realize he was talking about her.  She looked up at him and he was looking back at her sternly.  She suppressed an eye roll with a lot of difficulty.  So that’s how it’s going to be, he was going to be an insufferable ass just because he wasn’t getting his way.  Fine then.  She’d just have to solve this one on her own.

She took the few steps separating her from the girl on the bench, and sat down, activating her tablet so she could take notes during the interview.  The Winchesters disappeared inside followed by the deputy.

“Men can be such assholes, don’t you think?” Delilah threw out casually, as she tapped and swiped at her apps, hoping to get a reaction from the girl.

“Tell me about it.  Deputy Dick there won’t listen to me.  Shock my ass.”

Delilah smirked.  _Atta girl_ , she thought.  They talked for a few minutes, Delilah finding her more than lucid when she described what had happened that morning.  Nancy had arrived at ten to seven, for her shift, she had been running a little late and was in a hurry.  She had unlocked the door and gone inside, trying to rush through the start up routine.  That was when she had found Trey, lying in a pool of blood behind the counter.  After a few questions, Delilah determined that nothing had looked out of place, Trey’s throat had been slashed, and the front door was locked.  The girl couldn’t confirm if the back door was locked because she hadn’t made it that far; she had run back out and called the cops.

“Who was first on the scene after you called?”

Nancy snorted derisively, “Tom.”  Delilah raised her eyebrow at her expectantly and the girl went on, “Tom Norwood.  He’s my friend’s brother, never been worth much of anything.  Anyways, sorry. He was the first one here.  He’s in there playing sheriff.”

Delilah frowned, not much respect for the local law it would seem.

“So, who else has the keys to the place?”

“Just a few of us,” Nancy said, “Trey was a bit paranoid about it.” She took a deep breath.

Delilah gave her a few seconds to recompose herself.  “So, other than you and Trey, who has the keys?”

“Um, Melanie sometimes opens on weekends, so I guess her.  Oh and Roger.”

“Roger?”

Just then the ambulance pulled up, putting a stop to the questions when the paramedics took over with Nancy.  Delilah thanked her for her help, stood up and reached for the diner door, typing into her tablet the information from the interview.  She took a step inside and nearly ran headlong into a green coat and red hoodie clad man who was hurriedly leaving.

“Oh, woah! Sorry,” he said as she looked up into the dark-haired _Ghostfacers’_ face: Harry.

“Oh,” the other one said, as he looked at her, surprised.  He had dirty blond hair and a neatly trimmed red beard, Ed.  His voice dropped an octave, making Delilah’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead, “Hey.  Sorry about Harry.  Can’t take him anywhere.”

The first man tsked and rolled his eyes.  He continued past her and out the diner door, his arms full of equipment.

“That’s ok,” she said amused.

He adjusted a bag on his shoulder slowly, going for dramatic effect no doubt, but the strap caught in his jacket and ended up just falling back down his arm, comically.  She tried not to laugh as she looked around him for Sam, Dean or the deputy.

“I’m Ed… Zeddmore, supernaturalist.”  He stuck out his hand, getting her attention back just in time to spot him checking out her chest.  Wow… just, wow.

“I’m Delilah, forensics.”

She held out her hand to shake his and he took it, wrapping his other hand on top, “Well,” he continued in a lilting, almost musical tone, “Hey there, Delilah.”

He twitched his brow at her suggestively, keeping his light blue eyes fixed on hers.

“Heeey,” she answered, trying her best to keep the sarcasm at bay.  Curse the Plain White T’s and that stupidass song, she hadn’t had to put up with this shit in like six years.

She pulled her hand back as Harry came back inside to fetch Ed.  She stepped aside as he headed out the door, still giving her that same ridiculous look.  At the last second he ran his hands along the various pockets on his jacket and pulled out a card.  He held it out to her and she took it.  “If you ever see, you know, anything strange… or if you want to talk to someone who knows what’s really going on here,” he threw out, his speech halting, “That’s the number to call.”

“Thanks.”

“My number.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“To my cell.”

“Ok.”

“Day or night.”

“I’ll hang on to this.” She flapped the card and put it into her coat pocket before turning towards the restaurant.

“I’ll see you around, Delilah,” he said, stretching out the last syllable in her name dramatically and she turned to look at him getting dragged by Harry back to their van. Delilah shook her head, bemused.  _Ok, then… just as silly in real life._

She finally spotted the boys, standing at the back of the main dining area with a rotund officer in his Stevens County Sheriff’s Department uniform.  They were staring at a computer screen mounted on the end of the counter. If Nancy was right, behind it was lying a dead body.  She swallowed hard and walked over to the huddled group.  She noticed some flecked blood on the glass refrigerator doors and she turned to look at the computer screen.  It seemed the deputy and the boys were looking at security footage.  As she drew nearer, Dean noticed her.

“You alright?” he asked her, keeping his voice down.  She smiled and pulled out Ed’s card from her pocket.  He rolled his eyes and looked towards the door, calling the _Ghostfacers_ names under his breath.  Delilah smiled to herself and put the card back in her pocket.  Dean cleared his throat to get the deputy’s attention.

“Deputy Norwood, this is Delilah Carr, a new recruit.  She’s not technically FBI yet, but she’s showing a lot of potential.”

_Gee… Silence of the Lambs much, Dean?_   She’s surprised he didn’t call her Starling.

“How do, Ms Carr,” the deputy said, leaning in to shake her hand, a welcoming smile on his face.  He looked too young to be in charge of a major murder investigation.  He had a pleasant voice which sounded a bit tremulous, but considering the circumstances that was normal.  She took his hand in hers and returned his greeting.

“Deputy Norwood,” she said, jumping right in to her questions, “The witness who discovered the body tells me you were first on the scene after she called 9-1-1.”

“That’s right.  Dispatch called me just a bit before seven and I got here a few minutes after that.”

“Did you happen to notice if the doors were locked?”

He frowned, hesitating a little, and crossed his arms on his chest.  Delilah waited patiently for his answer. “The diner door was unlocked, Nancy was waiting out front.  The side door was locked too,” he said, pointing to the door down a hallway on his side of the room.

Delilah nodded, and she noticed Dean paying attention to their exchange out of the corner of his eye. “What about the back door?”

“What?” the deputy asked, confused.

“Was the back door locked when you got here?  Maybe the door showed signs of being forced?”

“Um, Ms Carr,” Delilah turned to look at Dean, “You might want to check out the security footage.”

“Thank you agent.  I will when I’m done asking my rookie questions.”

Dean’s calm and pleasant demeanour disappeared from his face and was replaced by his annoyed, _if I could strangle you I would_ look.  She gave him a quick smile and turned back to the deputy.  Dean turned back towards the counter and moved around the open end.  She just caught Sam’s smile as his brother walked past him.

She finished up with the deputy.  He admitted to not having checked the back of the restaurant.  She tried not to frown too much, she didn’t want him to think she was criticizing his police work.  She sympathized with him about being overwhelmed.  They hadn’t heard from the sheriff in a few days, and he was feeling a little out of his league, obviously.

Delilah glanced around the restaurant quickly to see where the access to the back was.  There seemed to be a door behind the counter to the left.  Sam was focused on something on the computer screen, so she headed towards the back, aiming to check out the back door.  She couldn’t help glancing right as she stepped behind the counter.  Dean was crouching at the head of the body, looking intensely at something. There was so much blood pooled around the victim’s head.  She was surprised that now, seeing the body and the gruesome blood, she really wasn’t as freaked out as she had imagined she would be.  She pushed open the door and found herself in the kitchen.

She looked around quickly and spotted the back door.  She walked up to it and inspected it carefully.  It was a standard metal door with a bolt lock and a heavy duty handle.  She tried to push on it but it wouldn’t budge.  She twisted the bolt and tried again, this time, the door swung open with a squeal of metal, revealing the fenced yard behind the restaurant, where the garbage containers were.  She closed the door and locked it again, noting down her observations on her tablet.  She also noted the noise the door made opening and closing, no way you wouldn’t hear it out front if the place was quiet.  She turned around, and saw a security camera aimed right at her.  Time to check out the footage then.  She noted down the presence of the camera and was heading back to the front of the restaurant, when she saw another door in the corner.  She pushed it open and found herself in an office.  She looked around, but other than the usual things one would expect to find in a restaurant office, there was nothing that caught her attention.  She did notice the punch clock on the wall though and moved closer to it.  There were time cards hanging beside the clock and Delilah had a look at the names on them.  She easily found Nancy’s card and she recognized Melanie’s name also, the other worker who had a key.  She looked at her work times: she had opened the previous morning, but had left at 2 p.m. So she was nowhere near the place after closing.

Another name jumped out at her: Roger.  She took his card and saw that he’d had split shifts for the last six days.  _That’s gotta suck_ , she thought, _being there at opening, working the rush, then going home just to come back for the dinner rush and closing, and without even accumulating enough hours to be considered full time, urgh_.  She took a picture of his time card with her tablet and put it back.

Her curiosity assuaged, she headed back out front.  Dean was still crouched beside the vic’s corpse, and she decided to go see what he had observed.  She drew up to where the victim’s feet were and he glanced at her before going back to sweeping the shelves and cabinets with the EMF.

“Anything?” she asked him.

“Nada.  This shit just doesn’t add up,” he said softly, switching off the sensor and putting it back in his pocket.

Delilah glanced down at the body on the ground.  His head was completely surrounded by a pool of blood, his eyes wide open and staring straight ahead in shock.  His skin had a slight blueish tinge to it and she noticed the large gash on his neck.

“Is it the same M.O. as Casey?” she asked.

“Yeah.  You can see the throat slash here.” He pointed to the gaping wound. Someone came up behind her and tapped her shoulder.  The forensics team was ready to work on the body.  Dean straightened up and headed back around the other end of the counter.  She addressed the woman wearing the forensics coat that she had noticed outside earlier.

“Where will the body be brought after you’re done here?”

“The coroner works up in Colville.  That’s where he’ll be sent after we’ve taken our photos and samples.”

“Is that where Casey Miles’s body is too?”

“Everything gets sent up that way.  Have to admit though, we haven’t seen anything this gruesome in nearly twenty years.  Usually around here it’s accidental deaths or old age and disease that gets ya.  This is madness, two homicides in one week.”

The forensics analyst shook her head and Delilah thanked her before rejoining Sam and Dean at the computer screen.  The deputy had left, gone to oversee another part of the process, and the boys were talking to each other in hushed tones.

“Well, how do you explain the teleport then?” asked Sam. “This is looking less and less like a hoax, regardless of all that other stuff in Ed and Harry’s book.”

“I know Sam.” He was sounding frustrated, standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, glaring at the screen.

“You know, I’ve been playing with a theory…” Delilah started.

“What’s that?” Sam asked her, encouragingly, Dean was listening too, looking right at her without any kind of emotion on his face.

“What if we’re dealing with a copycat?” Sam and Dean both straightened their shoulders and glanced at each other quickly, but she pushed on.  “Think about it.  Someone hears about the Thinman legend online and decides to use it to cover up his tracks, throw the scent off.  It would explain why none of the previous Thinman photos were real but Casey’s was.”  Dean was shaking his head, and she huffed at him, discouraged.  “What?  The clues add up.”

“Show her the tape, Sam,” he said, looking at her with his emotionless mask.  She had to admit, it was a hell of a talent, to be able to conceal his emotions so completely, but she really wished he wouldn’t.  It made it hard for her to understand what was going on.

Sam turned to the computer and clicked a spot on the scroll bar.  Delilah watched, transfixed as the cameras showed Thinman in the parking lot out front and then instantly he was standing beside Trey behind the counter.  She breathed in a sharp breath when the creature quickly raised its arm holding a knife and slashed across the manager’s throat sending blood splattering on the refrigerator glass.  The body hit the ground and Thinman turned and walked away out of camera shot, cool as a cucumber.  Sam stopped the video.  Delilah’s brain rushed through what she had just seen, trying to understand it.

“How did he get from the parking lot to behind the counter like that?”

“We don’t know,” said Sam,  “Not that many creatures can teleport like that.”

“And for sure humans can’t,” added Dean.

Delilah frowned, it didn’t make any sense.  All signs point to a human copycat, and then this teleport thing happens.  “Sam, is there a way for you to send me that video as a file?”

He glanced around, then pulled the keyboard towards him, his fingers flying over the keys.  “It may be too big to send.  I can try to send you a trimmed version.”

“Yeah ok, can you fit in 10 minutes before and after?”

“Yep.  You want all angles?”  She nodded and he clicked away a little longer then said, “Ok, you should be receiving it now.”

Delilah’s tablet blooped and she tapped and swiped to check the e-mail.  “Got it,” she said opening the file to make sure it was all working fine.

“Geeze, when you two nerd out on computer shit, it’s kinda scary,” muttered Dean, looking at his watch.

She threw an annoyed glance at him, but his wink completely disarmed her.  She felt her cheeks warm up and she bent back down over her tablet to hide her body’s involuntary response to him.  She closed the video app and put the tablet to sleep.  She still wanted to check out Casey Miles’ body and maybe talk to the coroner.  She was convinced this knife M.O. was important.  Both boys agreed with her about the coroner.  Sam wanted to keep working on the video file, though, see if there was anything else he could work out, so Delilah teamed up with Dean to hit up the morgue.

They dropped Sam off at the motel and headed up towards Colville.  Delilah settled back into the seat for the drive, having another look at that video file.  The sun was bearing down on the car, warming up the interior, so she shrugged off her coat and threw it into the backseat.

She started the video file and watched the first camera, the one pointed at the counter, as the manager moved around the place, getting ready to close up.  He walked to the side and headed down the washroom hallway and into the frame for the next camera, pointed at a side exit.  He locked the door, then headed back out towards the front, reappearing on the first camera.  He disappeared momentarily at the front of the restaurant, supposedly locking the front door, but there was a blind spot in the camera installation and she couldn’t see.  He came back into view fiddling with his keys and disappeared through the kitchen door, reappearing on the camera in the back, the one aimed at the delivery door.  He clearly turned the bolt and pulled on it a few times.  No doubt about it, the doors were locked.  She continued to follow his progress as he returned to the front of the restaurant, and stood behind the counter again.

“That shirt, is very distracting.”  Dean’s voice caught her by surprise, pulling her away from the video on her tablet.

“What?” she asked him, frowning.

He was staring straight out the windshield, his right hand on the wheel and his left resting on his leg.  He turned his eyes on her, the bright sunshine turning them an almost olive green, and her breath caught in her chest a bit, as they slowly travelled down her body and then back to the road.  Her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered.  How insane was it that one look from him was enough to get her so irrepressibly turned on.

She glanced out the window, and all she saw around them were the trees lining the side of this endless road.  She hadn’t noticed another car in a while.  She turned back towards Dean in his navy suit, the polyester pants doing nothing to conceal his strong thighs, his trim middle only partially hidden by his suit jacket, his broad shoulders and neck holding up his head, with his strong jaw, full lips, straight nose and those striking eyes.

“Pull over,” she told him, putting her tablet down on the back seat with her coat.

It was his turn to be surprised and he turned his head slightly to glance at her, then frowned back out at the road.

“What?”

“I said,” she slid down the bench towards him, resting her left elbow on the back of the seat and laying her right hand, palm down on his leg.  She leaned into him, slowly moving her hand up his thigh and pressing her lips to his ear.  “Pull the car over.”

She closed her lips on his earlobe and sucked gently while her hand pressed high into his leg where it met his pelvis.  Dean turned the wheel and hit the breaks, parking the nose of the car facing the tree line at an angle.  Delilah was slightly amused with him, but passion took over completely as he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers.  She indulged in some sloppy kissing; their tongues making their lips slick as they darted in and out of each other’s mouths.

She moved her hand a little to the right, and rubbed slowly along the zipper of his trousers, already feeling his cock starting to stiffen.  She massaged him, pulling a soft groan from deep in his throat.  He pulled away from her.

“This is not the time for this,” he said, sounding so completely beyond caring.

She started moving her hand away slowly.  “I can stop if you want.”  He grabbed her wrist with a protesting groan and laid her hand back on his crotch.

She pushed him back against the seat with her left hand, tossed his tie over his shoulder and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the tails out of his pants as she got to the bottom.  He kept his eyes on her as she brought her hands to his belt, pulling the buckle open, undoing the button on his pants and pulling down the zipper.  Dean reached behind him and pulled his gun out, putting it on the car’s dashboard.  He pulled her gun out of her belt too and laid it next to his.  She smiled, never having thought that removing guns would ever figure in her sexual foreplay.

She kissed him, running her hands down his exposed torso and back into his lap.  She scooted forward to the edge of the seat, so she could face him, and hooked her fingers around his pants’ and boxers’ waist bands.  He stretched his arms along the seat back before lifting his ass up enough for her to pull the clothing down to the middle of his thighs, his cock springing free.  She wrapped her hand around it and stroked slowly, Dean’s head falling back with a soft moan.  She bent down over his lap and licked him from scrotum to head.  Her tongue pressed down on the tip then swirled around the edges, covering him in slick saliva while still stroking him.  Soft sighs were coming from Dean and she could see his stomach twitching and clenching in response to her touch.  She lowered her head more, sliding his cock into her mouth smoothly.  She sucked in as she pulled back up, her hand following up to the tip and sliding back down followed by her mouth.  She did it a few times, until she felt his hand on her head, keeping her from pulling him out completely.  She removed her hand from around his stiff shaft and moved it down to cradle his balls gently.  She slid him further into her mouth and into her throat.  She hummed, making her vocal chords vibrate musically.  He gasped roughly, moving his hand to her shoulder, and kneading the muscle there.  She started bobbing her head up and down, increasing her speed and continuing her humming, saliva running down keeping him slick.  “Lilah,” he said, his hoarse voice sending shocks down to her pulsating pussy.  She turned her head to the side slightly, giving him a slow suck as she looked up the length of his body to his face.  He was looking back down at her, his lips parted to accommodate his heavy breathing.  She held his stare a few seconds while pulling on his cock with her mouth.  Then, she turned her head back towards his lap and increased her speed again, pressing one finger on the sensitive spot between his balls and his anus.  “Lilah, oh god.”

She felt his cock swelling in her mouth and she kept up her rhythm knowing he was close to release.  He tensed, his hand on her shoulder gripping her tightly.  He gasped and she tasted him as his cum spilled into her mouth.  She sealed her lips around his shaft so it wouldn’t make a mess but kept moving up and down working him through his orgasm.  When his body relaxed again, sinking into the black leather, she pulled off and swallowed the bitter, salty come, straightening back up on the seat.

Dean was watching her, his eyes fixed on her face.  He surprised her when he leaned forward and captured her lips in a searing kiss.  A lot of the men she’d been with wouldn’t kiss her after coming in her mouth, a weird taboo they would not break.  But Dean went right ahead, going so far as to slip his tongue in her mouth again.

His hand came to rest on her leg and he kneaded her thigh slowly.  A low thrum came from Dean’s throat and she felt herself melt as she recognized the Zeppelin song she had just been humming herself.  She threw herself into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him.  Her body was screaming at her to mount his bare lap and ride him hard but she reluctantly leaned away from him instead.

“We should really get back to the case,” she said, out of breath.

He leaned back in and kissed her, “I was going to take care of you first,” he said between lip presses.

She smiled and pushed on his chest.  “You can take care of me later tonight.” She kissed him again, “I’ll be dripping in anticipation, Dean.  All for you.”

He growled, kissing her forcefully.  “The shit you say, Lilah.  I swear to god, you drive me nuts.”

She smiled from ear to ear and leaned back against the seat as he pulled his pants back up, buttoned his shirt and tucked it back in.  She kept her eyes on him, revelling in her body’s response to him: the insistent throbs, the tingling on her skin and the anticipatory twitching of her muscles.  He looked back at her when he leaned forward to tuck his gun into his belt.  He grabbed her leg and pulled her down the seat towards him.  Her heart skipped a beat as he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her against him, his eyes roving over her face.  He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her slowly.  She closed her eyes too, resting her hand on his neck.  He pulled away and released her, smiling tenderly at her.  She shook her head bemusedly as he straightened up and shifted the car out of park and back onto the road.

They pulled up to the county coroner’s office twenty minutes later, Delilah throwing her coat back on to conceal the gun she had tucked back in her belt.  They headed inside and Dean flashed his badge and presented Delilah at the front desk, back to his professional demeanour.  They were quickly shown down the winding halls and into a sterile, brightly lit, medical examination room with square silver doors lining one wall.

The coroner was a tall, slender man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a white lab coat and green latex gloves.

“Agents,” he said, looking up from the body on his table.  Delilah recognized Trey from the restaurant.  She was surprised the body was already there.  “I’m glad you’re here.  Maybe you can help me with this one.”

Delilah raised her eyebrows but Dean stepped right up to the table following the coroner’s instructions.  In no time at all, the body was stripped, his clothing removed with scissors, and all traces of the blood cleaned off with an alcohol solution.  The dead man was lying naked on the table and all her lustful feelings instantly disappeared, replaced with mild aversion.

She came closer reluctantly as the coroner started describing the slash on the man’s throat, pointing to different details as he described the wound and how it was made.  Dean barely glanced at her as he paid close attention to what was being said.  The coroner explained that the gash was clearly made by a sharp blade, the attacker was quick and slashed at the victim’s throat from directly in front of him with his right hand.

“What about Casey Miles?” Delilah asked, leaning forward to look at where the coroner was pointing.  The tissues looked strangely spongey now that the blood had been cleaned off, like a cut into a raw pork loin.  She swallowed hard and leaned back, as if the action would take back the image her thoughts had evoked.

“Not quite the same sort of laceration.”

He moved away from the body on the table and headed for one of the silver doors along the wall.  Dean subtly ran the back on his fingers on her hand. She turned to look at him, concern was etched all over his face.  He kept is voice down, “You ok?” he asked her.

She nodded her head and followed him to the coroner’s side.  He had pulled out Casey’s body from the refrigerated compartment where she was stored.  He went over again, in his clinical analysis, the details of Casey’s throat wound.  How different she looked now than she did in her picture.  Gone was the animated, carefree, selfie-taking girl.  All that was left was her skin and bones and muscle tissue.  She took a breath to calm herself, trying to keep her outer composure from slipping.  This time, although the laceration was made by a similar weapon, the coroner explained, it was clear that the attacker had grabbed her from behind to slit her throat.  Again, they were looking at a right-handed person.

Delilah noticed that unlike Trey, Casey looked like she had several other shallow cuts perpendicular to the main one.

“What about these other cuts?” she asked, hesitatingly.

“Those are defensive.  Caused when the victim struggled, making the knife slip.”

Yup, she regretted asking that.  Her stomach made an uncomfortable flip as an image of Casey struggling to get away from her attacker popped into her mind. She nodded her head, still hanging on to her composure by a thread.  She looked at the body on the sterile metal tray and thought of the girl this corpse had once been, and then of the restaurant manager, lying naked on a table behind her and she just couldn’t take another second.  The walls felt like they were closing in on her and she just had to get out.  “Excuse me,” she said and she walked out of the examination room and continued straight out of the building.

She ended up in the parking lot, sitting on the ground leaning back against Baby, taking deep breaths of the chilly mountain air.  She closed her eyes and tried to let the warm sunshine seep inside her, chasing away the sick feeling in her stomach.  She was angry with herself.  She was weak and Dean was right, she was just a useless rookie, liable to get herself killed.  “Delilah?” a strange, yet familiar, slightly quavering voice called out from nearby. She opened her eyes and shielded them from the sun as a dark, backlit form stood in front of her.  Slowly she recognized the bearded Ed from the _Ghostfacers_ and she sighed.

“Hi, Ed.  What are you doing here?”

“We came to talk to the sheriff,” he said.  Harry stepped into her line of vision and nodded at her, frowning.  He was holding on to a camera in his hand, but it was pointed at the ground.  “What are you doing sitting on the ground?” Ed continued, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” she said drawing up her knees and leveraging herself against the car to get up, “I was just getting some fresh air.”  She wiped the dirt from the back of her coat then rubbed her hands together.  “You’re out of luck, the sheriff is missing.”

Harry looked confused.  “The deputy told us he was hunting, but would be back today,” he said hurriedly.

“Well, he’s not.  And they haven’t heard from him in days.”

Ed looked off, suddenly, towards the door of the building and groaned.  Delilah turned her head and saw Dean heading their way.  He walked up to them ignoring the two _Ghostfacers_ while he checked on her.

“Everything alright, Lilah?” he asked, sliding his hands down her arms.  She nodded and gave him a tentative smile.

Ed suddenly burst out, “Aw, no!  Don’t tell me you’re with those jockstraps! I thought you were local.”

Dean turned angrily and pointed a finger right in Ed’s face, “I will shoot you, both, in the kneecaps, so help me.”

“Alright, well we’re going to get going then,” said Harry precipitously and started walking away, back towards the white van.

She put her hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Whoa! Down boy,” she said, as Ed also turned and walked back to the van, his hands in his jacket pockets.  Delilah watched him then turned back to Dean.  “I’m gonna go with them.”

“What?” he burst out, livid.

“Listen to me, we need leads and like it or not, they know more about the Thinman legend than anybody else.”

“They’re fame whores, they don’t know anything about anything!  Everything legitimate they know about hunting they learned from Sam and me pulling their asses out of the fire.  And you want to go with them?”  Delilah put her hands on his chest.  She stretched up and kissed him on the lips and pulled back again.  He put his hands on her hips, sighing.  “Fine, fine,” he conceded, “You want to find out what they know, we can talk to them together, but if they start with their stupid camera shit, I’m punching them.”

Delilah laughed.  “I don’t think so, Dean.  They’re not going to say anything with you around.  Why don’t you head back to the motel and check in with Sam.  Maybe he found something in the security footage.”

“No, no way.  I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

Delilah frowned, “Is this about this morning?  Dean I went to have a coffee.  I was armed and everything.  I was perfectly safe.  I’m sorry I forgot my phone, but that’s it.”  His jaw was working, making the tendon in his neck stand out as he looked over her head at something.  She put her hand on his cheek, the short stubble rough against her palm, he must have shaved closer than usual this morning.  He looked back down at her. “I’ll be fine.  I swear,” she reassured him.

She kissed him again and pulled away from his arms, walking towards the _Ghostfacers’_ van.  Ed and Harry were arguing about something and she tapped on the window to get their attention.  Harry cranked down the glass.

“You guys have room for one more?” she asked.

“What, so you can spy on us?  Ruin our footage again?  Empty your pockets!  Are you hiding a magnet?” He was sounding more and more agitated.

Ed responded calmly, “Look at her Harry, where the hell would she be hiding a magnet like that?”

Harry paused and gave her a once over, lingering on her exposed cleavage… This shirt was becoming more and more of a bother.

“Look guys, seriously, I just want to exchange information.  They won’t admit it, but the guys are stumped on this one.  We could use your help.”

Ed and Harry exchanged a look, silently communicating.  Harry turned back towards her.

“Can we film you?”

Delilah gave them a wide smile and reached for the sliding door.  She opened it, hopped in and turned around getting a last look at the older Winchester brother, glaring at the van as she closed the door.

⭐

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so long... the roadside assistance was maybe a little gratuitous... but all access pass people!


	6. Ghostfacers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these guys.

“And presenting, the latest face to face the dangers of Thinman with the _Ghost… faceeers_.”

Delilah tried not to stare directly into the camera that Harry was pointing at her.  She waved, feeling pretty ridiculous.  “Hello world,” she said, trying not to laugh.  What the hell did she get herself into now?

“You should present yourself, let them know who you are,”  Harry encouraged her.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Just, whatever, start with your name.”

Delilah smiled nervously again and scoffed, “Ok.  I’m Delilah.  I’m 30 years old and I’m from Kansas.  I’m a pisces and I enjoy deep soulful discussions and curling up with a good book,” she finished, her tone brushing the sarcastic with that last bit.

Ed smiled and let out a breathy laugh from the driver’s seat as they headed down the road.  “Welcome to the team Delilah,” he said, Harry turning the camera towards him and then on himself.

“The _winning_ team.  ‘Cause we're the ones who’re gonna catch Thinman, not those… _Winchesters_.”

“I think you mean, _Lose_ chesters,” added Ed, looking slightly prouder of himself than the weak pun warranted.

Delilah shook her head. “You know we’re all after the same thing right?”

“How did you end up with those guys anyways?” asked Ed.

“Seriously,” said Harry, she was getting used to his moving the camera around between them… now she understood why their footage was so blurry. “Those guys are _Fifty Shades_ of wHey too much protein.”

Delilah laughed at that, but became more serious when the camera was pointed her way again.  Harry waited expectantly and she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.  “Um,” How much should she reveal?  She decided to keep it simple.  “They saved my life, you know.  And the world became a much scarier place.  I started hunting and our paths kept crossing and, yeah.”

Ed and Harry nodded like bobble heads, a string of _okay_ and _I get it_ and _yeah_ just coming out of their mouths as they absorbed.  She looked around the van at the various equipment and gear strapped to makeshift shelving, mostly filming equipment but she spotted a box of salt or two and something that looked like an EMF meter as well.

“So where’s the rest of the crew?  Maggie? And Spruce?” she asked.

Harry and Ed exchanged a look. “How do you know about Maggie and Spruce?” Harry asked, finally putting away the camera.

Delilah told them about coming across their show on their website.  It was pretty good.  Ed and Harry basked in her praise for a bit, downright glowing.  Harry told her that Spruce had left to start a start up and Maggie had never really liked the ghost stuff anyways, she’s into roller derby now or something like that.  His face dropped, looking sad as he fiddled with the camera viewer.

“Come on, Harry,” Ed said gently, glancing at him from the driver’s seat. “Let’s get back to the case.”

“Mmmm, ok.”  He breathed in and out in short bursts and shook his arms, like a fighter psyching himself out before a fight.  “Ok, I’m good,” he said, taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest.  “We’re so close to finding Thinman, Ed.  I can smell him.” He sniffed the air then added, “I can smell his musk.”

Delilah stared at him, did they seriously talk like that even off camera?  “So, what is Thinman?” she asked them, “What kind of creature?”

“Oh, Harry, you wanna…” Ed gestured, pointing to himself.  Harry nodded, picking up the camera again as Ed pulled up and parked the van, they had arrived back in Springdale.  The bearded _facer_ looked into the camera and spoke dramatically, leaning one arm on the steering wheel and moving the other one slowly towards the camera, for dramatic effect.  “Thinman... is part man… and part tree.”

Harry chimed in, coming to crouch in front of Ed while holding the camera out so they could both be in the shot, “Some people believe that he emerged from the nightmare of an autistic boy trying to communicate with a world that does not… understand him.”

Delilah raised her eyebrows… what now?  It was hard parsing the gibberish from the real information with these guys.  What should she be paying attention to and should she disregard?  Part man, part tree… memories pulled at her from her college days.

“What, like a dryad?” she asked them.

Harry put the camera down and they both looked at her, “Yeah,” said Ed, “Yeah, like a… like a what?”

“Dryads are tree spirits.  There’s a lot of European lore about them.” Harry slowly turned the camera back on to her as she spoke, she tried to ignore it, continuing to talk to them.  “Some were thought to be guardians of nature, nurturing plant life in the wild forests of England, Scotland, Ireland, Germany, France.  Folklore has accounts of creatures attacking people who destroyed nature.”

“That’s… that’s,” started Ed, “That’s really good.” He turned to Harry, “Did you get that?”

“I totally did,” he answered excitedly, “That is so money!”

Delilah raised her eyebrow, did they seriously not know anything?  She had been hoping they could help her.  She was starting to think this was a waste of time.  She looked outside and noticed how dark it was getting already, the sun setting early in the valley town.  Suddenly something bleeped from Harry’s computer.  He put the camera down and grabbed his laptop to look at it.

“Holy wow!” he exclaimed getting both Delilah’s and Ed’s attention.  In his excitement, the words just came rushing out of his mouth at a mile a minute, “Someone posted the diner footage of Thinman in the comments section of our blog!”

“Who?” asked Ed, as Delilah moved to the front of the van now that they were parked.  She frowned at the computer screen as she watched Trey, the restaurant manager, having his throat slashed again.

“Who cares?” answered Harry in his excitement as he stood up and moved past Delilah into the back.

Delilah sat down in his seat and grabbed the computer, trying to find information on the post.  The IP address was blocked though.  Just like with Casey’s photo.  So who had access to the footage?  Sam wouldn’t have posted it, and she sure as hell didn’t.  Could someone have hacked her e-mail?  But that made no sense either, no one in town even knew her real name.

“Harry,” said Ed, breaking her concentration and she became aware of weird grunts coming from the back of the van.  “Hey, why are you putting your ninja outfit on?” She turned around just in time to get a shot of Harry’s ass as he shimmied into black pants.  She turned away but not fast enough to avoid having the forest green and white trimmed underwear seared in her memory.

“I’m not gonna wait for someone else to die,” he said, his voice drifting up to the front.  “I’m gonna find Thinman, tonight!”

“Where?” Ed asked, his face showing genuine confusion.  He wasn’t acting for the camera now.  Delilah looked at him, suspicious.

“The woods, obvi!”

“That’s kinda general,” said Ed.  “There’s woods all over the place here.”

Harry popped his head in the front cabin, “Look, Thinman hangs out by trees… and the woods is where trees hang out.” He disappeared into the back again.  “Two kills in town?  Local woods is the best bet.”

Delilah kept her eyes fixed on Ed’s face as he turned the key reluctantly in the ignition and pulled out of the parking and back onto the street.  Something was clearly bothering him: he looked ponderous and worried.

“Two people are dead… really dead,” he said, “And I just keep thinking, that, you know, maybe, we should leave this up to the professionals.”

Delilah tilted her head, thinking.  He was scared she realized.  But they had been chasing Thinman for years now, what was it about this case that was any different.  Was he hiding something?

Harry popped his head back in the front, he was dressed all in black now, everything except his face disappearing in the darkening interior of the van.  “First of all,” he said fervently, “Hell no!  We _are_ the professionals, Ed!” he added, pulling night vision goggles onto his head. “An-and quit raining on my rainbow!”

Did he seriously just say that?

“Rainbows can’t happen without rain.”

“Don’t try to use science with me!  This is about a-a feeling.  And we can’t quit when we’re so close to finding Thinman and finally making up for everything we’ve lost because of… what we do!”

Ed looked at Harry, and then glanced her way.  He looked back out to the road quickly avoiding her stare.  Oh something was definitely up with him.

“So, to the woods?” he asked Harry.

“Any woods Ed!  Any woods.”

He disappeared into the back of the van again, and Ed pulled up behind a grocery store where there were some trees.  It wasn’t much of a wood, considering that she could see the headlights of cars driving by on the other side of it, but there was a path and when Harry came out of the back of the van with his camera strapped to one gloved hand and a backpack on his shoulders and the ridiculous goggles over his eyes, he didn’t seem to care.  He was confident that it was the right place.  They all got out of the van and Ed headed for the back doors to grab some equipment.  Delilah followed him, determined to get some answers.

“Boy, look at him!” she said in an exaggerated way.  “He’s more excited than a kid at Christmas.”  Ed didn’t respond, he was packing his own bag with things she assumed he might need to hunt down Thinman.  She went on, “I can’t help but notice, that you’re not excited.”

“What?  Of course I’m excited.  We’re going to finally find Thinman.”  The words sounded hollow to her ears.

“Ed,” she said, pulling on his arm so he would look at her.  “What’s going on?”

“Look, if Spruce and Maggie wanted to go do their own thing, fine, whatever, but I couldn’t let Harry give in to his girl.”  He was talking quickly, looking at anything but her.  “I mean, she called the Ghostfacers stupid… stupid! Can you believe that?  We’re trying to help people, really help people, how is that stupid?”

She bit back a comment about their methods, “How does any of that have anything to do with this?  You’re not making any sense Ed.”

“Harry was going to leave,” he said in despair, his blue eyes finally settling on her.  “I couldn’t let that happen so…” He dropped his gaze again and trailed off.

“So?” she said encouragingly, trying not to lose her shit.

“I needed to give him a reason to stay,” he said dejectedly, “so I made up Thinman.  None of it is real.”

Delilah blinked, trying to process.  That actually made sense: the doctored photos, the hokey testimonies, all the different explanations… only there were two bodies in the morgue with photographic evidence that they were killed by Thinman.

“Two people are dead Ed.  Something is going on.  No matter how Thinman came to be, there’s something out there killing people.” Ed was looking pale.  He looked confused and scared.  She took pity on him.  “Look I’ll stay with Harry. You go get Sam and Dean.  Tell them what you told me.”

“They won’t be happy.”

“No shit Sherlock!  Suck it up!  This is bigger than you and Harry and the _Ghostfacers_ , this is the real deal and we need help.”

He nodded reluctantly and she told him where he could find Sam and Dean.  She watched him close the van doors and hop into the driver’s seat.  Harry came running up to her.

“Where is he going?” he asked her in a panic as the van disappeared down the road.

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, “He’s gone to get Sam and Dean.”

“What?  No!  What?  Why would he do that?  We can handle this.”

“What can I tell you Harry?  Are we hunting this thing or what?” she asked him, hoping to distract him long enough for Ed to get back with the Winchesters.  She wasn’t going to be the one to tell Harry his best friend had been lying to him for years.

She looked at the thin strip of trees.  She was pretty sure that nothing was stalking them in there.  Harry turned to look at the woods too.  His theatrical voice was back as he said, “You’re totally right, young _Facer_!  The night is calling us to find Thinman.  I can hear it calling my name.” his voice became raspy, “Haaaaaaarry, Haaaaaaaaary.”  He continued in his bombastic voice, “Who am I to ignore the calling… of my destiny?”

That’s when she realized his camera was back in his hand and pointed at himself.   _Oh dear god.  So ridiculous_.  He started walking towards the trees, pointing the camera ahead of him at the parking lot and nearly tripping over his feet.  She shook her head and followed him, giving the few bystanders a tense smile as they headed for the woods.

“Harry here, with Delilah.  Solo _Ghostfacers_.  Investigating a possible Thinman habitat… in the woods.”

She had to admire his ability to ignore the lady putting groceries in her minivan, the cars driving on the road and the couple strolling along, all the signs of normalcy not even close to bothering him in his quest to find Thinman.

They moved onto the path and he went on, “All alone, deep in the woods, a man could lose his marbles being so close to the hand of doom.  Lucky for us, I’m really good, at marbles.”

Delilah’s mind started to wander, as she followed him, keeping an eye on the woods around them.  The trees were actually getting quite thick the further they moved up the path.  She turned around to glance back at the parking lot of the grocery store and was slightly alarmed that it was so far away.

She turned around to look at Harry when she heard her name.  “Stay close Delilah, this path… is treacherous, if we were to get lost, we might have to share body heat to stay warm.”

He turned the camera on her, his headlamp blinding her with its brightness.  A moment later he had turned again, but she was left with a residual imprint of the bright light, and she couldn’t see much of anything.  She followed the sound of his voice while she waited for the blindness to subside.

“Thinman stalks his victims, but the tables have turned, my friends.  The stalk _er_ is now the stalk _ee_.”

Delilah’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out.  She had a message from Sam _: On our way,_ was all he said.  Boy must Dean be pissed off.  She caught up to Harry again. He was filming a pile of sticks in the middle of the path.

“All right,” he was saying, “What we have here is a, uh, it’s a… it looks like a formation of sticks in the shape… of a pile.  Could’ve been left here for us by Thinman.  Stay close Delilah.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head and then she heard a branch snap behind her.  She turned around quickly, trying to see into the dark tree line.  Somehow, at some point, civilization had disappeared entirely and she could no longer see the parking lot, or the street.  She thought she saw something moving in the woods and she took a step closer trying to see.  She pulled her cell back out of her pocket, intending to call Dean, when she heard a commotion back where she had left Harry.

She watched in dismay as he spoke into the camera again, she was too far to hear what he was saying, but the light on his headlamp fell on something right over his shoulder.

“Harry! Watch out!” she screamed as she drew her gun from behind her and started running towards him.  He had raised his head when she called his name but now was looking right at the tall, slender form of Thinman.  She raised her weapon and everything went dark.

~

 

_“… with the Feds.”_

_“What do you wan…”_

_“Just deal with it.”_

The sharp, insistent throb in her head muddled all her senses.  She was disoriented and groggy and had a weird taste in her mouth, like that time she’d taken Percocet to sleep and ended up out cold for two days.  She moved her mouth and felt something pulling at her skin.  Realization dawned slowly, pulling her out of her daze.  The first thing she was aware of was the cool cement under her cheek and the strain on her arms tied together at the wrists behind her.  Then slowly the noises around her formed into words – hushed whispered tones that sounded thunderous and the scraping of a shoe on gritty cement.  _Harry!_ She suddenly remembered and her eyes flew open, a stab of pain piercing her brain through and through, causing her to see only bright white until she closed her eyes again.  She groaned.  She tried again to open her eyes, more slowly, and this time, though the pain still split her head in two, she was able to make out some of her surroundings.

She was lying on the cement floor of a warehouse-like area, shelves and equipment around the edges of the large space she was bound and gagged in.  She noticed a few chairs lying around and a bright spot light aimed in her general direction.  Well that explained the blinding white light.  She curled on herself and managed to sit up slowly.  Harry was nowhere in sight and she didn’t know wether she should be relieved that he wasn’t captured or worried that he’d already been taken care of.

She glanced around again and a small part of her mind noticed, and found comical, the loss of one of her shoes as she sat cross-legged.  Stupid pumps, if Dean dares to make a Cinderella reference when he rescues her, she will slug him. The voices in the background hushed and footsteps came nearer.

Two pairs of shoes stopped in front of her and she slowly looked up, tilting her head back gingerly and narrowing her eyes to minimize the pain.  One pair of feet was connected to a tall stick-thin man in a long black cassock style robe.  She didn’t recognize the long face with the brown-black hair and thick eyebrows, but the rotund deputy in the Stevens County Sheriff’s Department uniform beside him was unmistakable.  Unable to talk due to the tape on her mouth, she glared at him, trying to properly communicate all the hate and disgust she felt for the people who had abducted her while she felt behind her for her gun.  There was nothing tucked in her belt anymore and she realized that if she wasn’t wearing her coat, chances were that they had found the gun already.  Or had she lost it in the woods?  Everything was such a blur.

“I think she’s looking for this,” said the cassock-clad man in a creepy, emotionless voice that didn’t quite match his stare.

He held out her gun towards the side, showing it to her in a very slow, intentional way, making it flash with reflected light from the lamp behind him.  It was all very dramatic and a little over the top, like he was trying to look and sound creepy, trying maybe a little too hard.  The deputy was looking at her with a hungry look in his eyes, the tip of his tongue just peeking out of his open mouth in a way that reminded her a little too much of sick pervs in her father’s kitchen.  Her heart accelerated, adrenaline pumping into her bloodstream preparing her to fight as she maintained eye contact with the potential threat.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing and the atmosphere was broken by the strident sound, echoing in the large room.  He grabbed it and looked at the I.D.  He glanced at his partner quickly then turned around to pick up the call.

“Deputy Norwood,” he said, his voice taking on that thin, quavery tone he’d had the first time she met him, earlier that day.  “Gee agent, I don’t know.” He was talking to Dean!  Without thinking she started calling out his name, straining to get words out past the piece of tape on her mouth.  “I could run it through the database I guess, but tire treads… I don’t know what we’ll find.” He paused, glaring at his accomplice and pointing at her sharply.  The black-clad man stepped up to her and hit her with the gun, shutting her up.  The fucker fucking pistol-whipped her with her own fucking weapon! The deputy looked right at her with an amused sneer on his face.  “Agent Carr is missing, you say?  That’s terrible.  I’ll put every available resource on this.”  She was fuming mad, hardly even noticing the dull throb in her cheek compared to the rage boiling inside her. “Of course, anything to help the Bureau.  I’ll call if I find anything.”

He tapped the end button and looked at his partner.  He burst out laughing, a grating sound that hurt her head.  Oh he was so going to get it.  They both were.  The deputy sneered at her lecherously again but then turned to the other one.  He jerked his head to the side and they both moved away out of ear shot.

Alone and unobserved, Delilah looked around quickly for something to get her out of her predicament.  At least they didn’t seem to have tied her to anything in particular.  Other than the tape on her mouth and her bound wrists, she wasn’t restrained.  She was pretty sure though, that if she tried to make a run for it, she would end up shot.  She needed to get untied.  She moved her fingers around, feeling for her wrists and found a thin, stiff plastic strap sticking out.  Zipties!  They had her in zipties.  Delilah smirked to herself and acted quickly while her captors were out of sight.  She rocked onto her back, bringing her wrists forward over her butt and down her legs.  She brought her hands closer to her face and inspected the tight plastic strap: it was definitely too tight for her to slip out. She had a quick look around to check on the deputy and his accomplice but they were nowhere in sight.  She rocked to her knees, raised her wrists in the air and swung her elbows down and out, slamming her arms against her hipbones.  The plastic snapped and she was free.

Delilah heard a scuffling sound from the right and she hurried back into her cross-legged position, hiding her now loose wrists behind her.

“When the agents get here, I’ll zap ‘em with these babies.”  The deputy held up a couple of tasers, making the blue electric current buzz threateningly.

“What should we do with her?” the tall man asked, fixing her with a cold stare.

The deputy turned to look at her, “We don’t need her.  Just kill her and dump the body.”

The man looked at her, a flash of excitement in his eyes betraying his indifferent murderer act.  The deputy put his phone to his ear again.

“Agent Tyler… yeah I got a hit on those tires.  Yup, they’re only made for one kind of car.  The 1989 Geo Metro… Yeah, looks like we got lucky.  I ran it through the DMV and there’s only one of those around here.  Ah huh, registered to a night guard at the mill.  Name of Roger.  That’s right.  Okey agent.”

He hung up the phone and threw a twisted smile to the man she assumed was Roger.  The same Roger who worked the split shifts at the diner.

“Show time, Rog,” he said and then walked off, heading down a row of machinery, leaving her alone with Thinman.

Roger stood immobile, staring off towards where Norwood was heading.  When he was out of sight, he turned to look down at her.  He slowly moved to stand right in front of her and crouched down so he was just above eye level.  His movements were slow and deliberate, but his eyes betrayed that maybe he wasn’t quite the stone cold killer his partner seemed to think he was.  Although he tried to look indifferent, his eyes kept darting back to hers, almost like he was checking to see if she was paying attention to him.  When he looked away, she glanced down at her gun, held loosely in his hand, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.  If she could get him to drop it, she could get it, shoot him and get away before Deputy Norwood came back.  Roger started talking, his voice pulling her from her scheming.

“You know,” he said, switching the gun to his left hand and pulling a hunting knife from beneath his robes, “It’s a shame we don’t have more time.” He brought the point of the knife against her chest and slowly slid it downward between her breasts.  She felt the sharp pain of a nick and held back from flinching, trying to avoid a more serious cut.  “The fun we could have.”

She focused on his eyes again, glaring at him.  His words sounded hollow and forced, rehearsed.  What was he playing at?  He obviously had her, could do what he wanted, could kill her right then.  He hadn’t hesitated with the restaurant manager, so what was stopping him now?  His blade reached her shirt edges and he slid the tip under the first button and popped it off, and then the second.

He was stalling she realized.  She probably had a good shot at getting away if he dropped her gun.  She knew she could get the knife from him, no problem, but the gun was the real problem.  As he reached the third button, she acted.  She uncurled her right leg and gave a kick at his left hand, but he shifted at the last second and she connected with his knee instead, knocking him off balance but not getting him to drop the gun.  _Shit shit shit!_ was all she could think as she sprang up to her feet and took off towards the dark interior of the mill before he could recover.

Adrenaline coursed through her and she ran full out, hoping, needing to reach a hiding place before he caught up.  The sound of her one shoe slapping against the concrete was loud in her ears and she nearly missed the popping sounds from behind.  She kept running even when she felt a stitch in her side.  She turned left sharply as the gunshots continued and she saw a hole in the equipment shelving next to her. She ducked inside and pulled a pile of curled up plastic tubing to camouflage the space.  She tried to steady her breathing, as she heard footsteps coming down the aisle.  They slowed down the closer they got and she took a deep, terrified breath and held it, trying to not make a sound.

Suddenly, the deputy’s voice rang out from the other side of the shelves.  “Rog!  Quit screwing around.  They’ll be here any minute.  Did ya get her?”

“Yeah,” the voice answered from nearby, “She won’t be getting very far.  I’ll catch up to her later.”

Part of her brain was just screaming about his incompetence as a killer, she wouldn’t have stopped until the job was done, but the emotional part of her brain was just relieved that the footsteps were retreating.  She slowly became aware of a dull throbbing pain in her side.  She looked down and noticed first that her shirt was hanging open obscenely and then that there was a dark stain on her vest.  She brought her hand up to see what it was and the pain sharpened as she touched the offending spot.  She raised her hand to her eyes and saw it was covered in thick red blood.

Fuck!  He did get her.  Years of watching bad TV and movies came swimming to the forefront and she pressed her hand against the seeping wound, sending sharp pain coursing through her.  She took a breath; she was not going to bleed out here.  She started worrying about internal bleeding, and organ damage and sepsis from the bullet, her mind just racing through every worst case scenario.

A sudden commotion coming from the spot where they had her tied up before, snapped her away from the panic that had started to rise, and she heard a distinctive scraping sound accompanied by grunting.  “Goddamn these guys are fucking heavy.” She heard the deputy say.  She closed her eyes tightly, praying they weren’t all doomed.  Delilah took deep steadying breaths, trying to figure out what to do, so many things were happening: she had been shot, and was now slowly bleeding out, Sam and Dean were cornered and from the scraping sounds she could deduce being tied up, there were two, very human psychos running around… it was really not going well.

 _Priorities Delilah_ , her logical brain screamed at her.  Number 1: stop the bleeding.  She realized she still had the fucking duct tape on her mouth and an idea struck her.  She lifted the bottom part of her shirt so she could see the wound, wincing as the wet fabric pulled away from the edges; it was just above her hip bone and to the side, slowly seeping red.  She used her shirt to dry the blood around the wound, ignoring the burning pain as she did, and left it there.  She grabbed one end of the duct tape and yanked it off her face, no time to even feel it.  She took away the fabric and quickly pressed the tape over the wound and laid her hand over it.  Her vision was starting to swim and she leaned back a bit in her cramped space trying to take deep steadying breaths to stop the dizziness and slow her heart rate.  The faster her heart pumped, the more bleeding there would be, the dizzier she would get.

She didn’t know how much time passed, was it a minute? Was it an hour?  Slowly, the pain receded and the wooziness went away.  She could hardly hear anything coming from where she last heard the bad guys moving something she assumed were Sam and Dean.  It was time for step 2: get help.  Normally, she would call one of the boys for help… Well, if she needed Sam and Dean, then rescue mission it was.  She poked at the edge of the tape to make sure it was going to stay in place and then carefully moved the cable concealing her hiding place.  Her side throbbed and she blocked the sensation out of her mind.  _That’s quite enough from you, I’ll deal with it when this is over._

She slowly straightened up and looked down the aisle she was standing in.  To her right, it was a dead end, a large press of some sort blocking all access.  She turned left and looked down when she took a step, remembering her one shoe.  She couldn’t afford to stumble or twist her ankle now.  She pressed her toes against the heel and slipped out of it, leaving it behind and continuing in her socks.  As she reached the end of the aisle, she strained her ear, trying to locate all the players in the story.

Someone was singing a camp song all cheerfully while moving around the room, judging by the fluctuating volume.  Must be the deputy.  She tried to figure out if Roger was nearby too, but if he was, he was keeping very quiet.  A grunt and a rattling chain caught her attention and she was relieved.  If there was struggling, then he was alive.  Were they both?  Were they hurt?  Her brain went from relieved to panicked again in a second, and she took another deep breath.  She couldn’t let her emotions get the better of her, she needed to stay calm and alert.  A low, gruff voice got her attention and her knees almost went weak with relief.

“So you’re Thinman.” Dean paused.  “That would almost make sense if it didn’t look like you just ate a fat camp.  What did you do with Delilah?”  _Confirmed deputy then_.  There was another pause and the deputy’s wordless singing got louder.  “Oh, God, Sam, make him stop,” he said, sounding exasperated, like the singing was the worst part about being cornered and restrained by a lunatic.

A second wave of relief took her.  Sam was there too, and awake.  “Hey, so, what’s the deal?” he said, “What are you, Norwood?  You a demon?”

The deputy ignored his question, continuing his wordless tune.  Delilah needed to see what was happening.  She noticed light shining through some of the tools on the shelving hiding her from the deputy and his hostages.  If she could move it, she could see.  She carefully shifted over some of the stuff, silently gasping when her actions pulled at her bullet wound.  She held onto her side, missing out on some of what was said while the pain ebbed away again.  Dean’s voice pulled her back and she peeked through the gap she had managed to make.

“So there was no teleporting… just a couple of douchebags doing the “ _Scream_ ” thing.”

She could see them from her hiding spot. Roger had joined the party it would seem.  He and the deputy were standing with their backs to her, facing Dean who was sitting in a chair.  She could see Sam’s profile, sitting against a beam, his hands behind him.  She was confused by the change in the décor.  Oddly enough, there was a curtain pulled taut behind Dean depicting woods.  The spot light from before was aimed at it, lighting it up and throwing everything else in shadows.  There was another spotlight aimed right at Dean at an angle, casting his face in sharp relief.  Boy was he looking pissed off.

“Listen to me, if either of you two assholes hurt her, I’m gonna…”

“Gonna what?  What will you do agent?”

Dean’s face was terrifying, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, his jaw working as he ground his teeth… even she wouldn’t dare taunt him now.  She was trying to form a plan; luckily Norwood and Roger didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get the killing over with.  She had to get them freed.  But without a weapon, she couldn’t just walk up to them.  She needed a distraction, something that would keep the bad guys occupied long enough for her to get the boys out of their cuffs.  Lucky for her, the self-defence class that taught her the trick with the zipties, also showed her a couple nifty handcuff maneuvers.

She tuned back in to the conversation, while she waited for an opportunity.

“Trey was a dick,” said Roger.

“And what about Casey?  What did she do?” asked Dean angrily.

“She wouldn’t go out with me, so I set her up with someone else… my knife.”

The two murderers laughed.  Delilah was revolted.  Could they really be so petty?  Talking about the cold murder of two people so casually?  They were making jokes for crying out loud.  She started coming up with a plan to get them out of the room.  She was sure the boys were already busy coming up with a way to get out too.  If she could just get Norwood and Roger away long enough, they could escape.  Maybe if she snuck around to the back and made some of this stuff fall, they would come investigate.  Roger figures she’s still hiding around back here somewhere.  Damnit!  It was really a fucking gamble, no way of knowing for sure they would both come after her, and then she’d be trapped.  They already said they didn’t need her, so she didn’t think she would get the same curtesy stall the Winchesters were getting.

A sudden change in Roger’s tone attracted her attention again.  “You two are lucky ducks!” he said excitedly as he moved to stand behind Dean, “You’re the stars of our best video yet.  And when it goes viral, everyone will know Thinman’s real.”

He put on the mask he had been holding, over his head, completing the transformation into the previously fake Thinman.  Dean was looking daunted as he stared ahead.  There was a pause and Delilah held her breath as Norwood bent down to look into the camera and said, “Action!”

Thinman grabbed Dean’s coat roughly at the shoulder and brought the knife around to slit his throat as Sam yelled no over and over unable to stop his brother from being murdered before him.  Delilah looked on in horror but just before the blade connected with Dean’s skin, there was a loud ruckus coming from the front of the mill.  Everything stopped.

“It’s that bitch you let get away Rog.  Damnit,” said the deputy as he hurriedly covered Sam’s mouth with duct tape while Roger taped Dean’s.

“Impossible, Tom, I swear I shot her. She should be lying in a pool of blood by now.”

Delilah couldn’t see him, but gauging by the muffled voice and scraping of the chair, Dean didn’t like hearing that.  The two psychos snuck off to the right, behind the forest curtain and out of sight as they left to investigate the noise.  This was her chance.

She moved out from behind the shelves and hurried towards Sam and Dean on quiet stockinged feet.  Dean was struggling with his hands cuffed to the chair arm.  A sixth sense made him stop and look up and he sat completely still his eyes going round like silver dollars when he saw her heading their way.  Sam turned his head too and looked relieved, even with the tape on his mouth.

She crouched down at Dean’s feet and pulled a bobby pin out of her hair.  Her vision was swimming again, probably from her loss of blood and quick movements, but she forced herself to focus.  She grabbed one of his cuffed wrists and turned it so she had access to the lock.  She jammed the pin into it and bent it, turning and bending again until the cuff sprang open and Dean twisted his wrist out.  He immediately ripped off the duct tape from his face and she reached for the second cuff.  Dean stopped her though as he stood up, looking around.  He signalled to Sam, who had managed to un-cuff himself, and pulled her to her feet.  They headed off to the side quietly while Sam cloaked himself in the shadows outside the brightly lit area.  But she just couldn’t hold the dizziness back anymore, her vision swam and dark spots appeared before her and she stumbled.  Then she was floating, strong arms holding her as Dean carried her over to a large wooden reel and crouched behind it.  She leaned against him as he bent down to examine the piece of duct tape on her side.  He looked like he was going to pull it off, and she laid her hand over it quickly, ignoring the pain and shaking her head.  A cold, murderous look came over his features and she shivered.  Norwood’s voice was approaching, getting louder as he talked animatedly.

“I mean, we were gonna let one of you guys live to tell our story,” he chuckled, sounding pleased as punch at the prospect of more killing, and Delilah had a sinking feeling she knew who he was talking to. “But now, once you two are dead, there’ll be no proof that Thinman was your brainchild.”

The deputy stopped talking suddenly and she guessed by the sound of his voice just before that he had made it back to where he and Roger had left their captives, who were now gone.  Dean looked at her and pressed a finger to his lips and gave her the signal to stay hidden.  She begged him with her eyes to stay with her, what the hell was he going to do unarmed?  But it was pointless.  He sprang up from behind the reel at the same time as she heard the grunts and heaves of someone fighting.  She leaned around the wooden obstruction, needing to see what was going on.  Sam had Norwood and was smashing his head against the same beam he had previously been tied to.  Dean had grabbed Roger from behind and was holding his hand that was holding a knife to Harry’s throat.  Her relief at seeing Harry alive was short-lived considering the circumstances.  Standing closest to her was Ed, who was looking lost.

Delilah’s gaze was drawn back to Dean as Harry managed to elbow his captor in the ribs and get away.  A look of cold determination that chilled her to her bones came over Dean’s face.  She looked on hypnotized as he slowly forced Roger’s hand to turn the blade on himself, pointed right at his heart.  Time stood still it seemed as Dean, the man she had come to think of as warm and caring, ruthlessly forced the blade into the scared man’s heart, right up to the hilt.  As the life faded out of his eyes, he became dead weight and Dean let him fall to the ground unceremoniously.  A sudden feeling of gladness rushed into her system as she looked at the corpse.  She was only disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to finish off the scum who had killed those people and who had tried to kill her.  She looked up at Dean.  They locked stares, and they understood each other perfectly in that moment: job well done.

They were snapped out of it a second later when the deputy, whom Sam had knocked down before, suddenly kneeled up, pointing his gun right at him.  Before anyone could act, Ed jumped in front of the tall hunter, blocking the shot, holding out his arms and yelling at Norwood.

“No! No, look at me.” He was speaking very quickly, his breathing laboured from fear, “this is all my fault. Okay?  It’s all my fault.”

Delilah felt respect for Ed, watching him volunteer to take a bullet for Sam, but she wasn’t going to let it happen.  She had noticed, a moment before with the primitive part of her mind, that her gun had fallen to the ground when Roger dropped and she made for it now, feeling the pain in her side radiate sharply with each move, but she didn’t care.  She sprang to the ground, lying on her good side, grabbed the gun and pointed it at the deputy’s back.  But she was too late.  A shot rang out making everyone in the room flinch.

She watched in confusion as the deputy cried out in pain and then fell over onto his face.  She looked up and saw Harry, holding a large gun in his hands and staring straight at the unmoving body of the deputy.

Dean was the first to move in the wake of the madness that had been the last few minutes.  He reached over and put his hand on Harry’s gun, taking it away as the man trembled.

Delilah put down her own gun and noticed with detachment that she couldn’t really feel her toes anymore.  Then she realized that the room was getting very dim all around her and she was suddenly afraid… she was dying, she was so sure of it.

“Dean,” she forced out of her mouth, the syllable sounding soft and breathy to her.

He must have heard her because suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, his fingers pressing the pulse point on her neck.

“Stay with me, baby.  You hear me?” If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounded scared, but Dean Winchester was never scared.  She smiled, thinking about him, both terrifying hunter and caring lover.  She couldn’t hear his voice anymore, but the darkness hadn’t quite closed in yet, and she could see his eyes, those intensely green eyes.

⭐


	7. Ready for Love

An annoying, nagging pain was pulling at her side and Delilah groaned.  She felt something plucking at her and she lazily tried to swipe it away, connecting with a large hand.

“Keep still, I’m trying to get this fucking tape off you,” said her favourite voice in the world, even if it did sound gruff and annoyed at the moment.

She opened her eyes carefully.  The bright spots were still lighting up the cavernous room around her, casting everything outside the ring of light in dark shadows.  She was lying on the cement floor on her left side, something jammed in her back to keep her upright.  She turned her head and saw Dean, kneeling against her, bent over her side pulling on the grey duct tape she had used to patch herself up.  He was frowning, completely focused on what he was doing.  She felt another tug and a dull burning throb went right through her.

“Ow,” she said.  Dean frowned, looking angry.  Delilah chuckled, remembering something from earlier that day.  She laid her hand on his cheek.  “You know, this isn’t what I meant when I said you could take care of me tonight.”

He turned his angry glare on her, “You’re making jokes now?”  Delilah smirked, refusing to be cowed by his brusque manner and he went back to gently pulling at the tape.  She just caught his mumbled, “Duct tape… you’re not a fucking lawn chair.”

Just then Sam came up to them, it was like staring up the side of a skyscraper from where she was.  He crouched down and put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Hey, we need to get going.”

“Damnit Sam!  I’m doing my best here,” burst out Dean.

She felt bad for him, he was sounding so frustrated.  “You know, some oil would help,” she said, “You have WD-40?”

Dean stopped what he was doing and looked at her frowning.  “Are you insane?”

Sam had a surprised pensive look on his face, like he was considering the idea.  “You know, that would work.  It would dissolve the glue.”

Dean had an astounded look on his face as he gazed at each of them in turn.  Then he threw his arms in the air and stood up quickly, the abrupt movement startling her.  “Fine, you wanna spray car oil on her fine.  Get her to the car.  I’ll clean up the other mess.”

He walked away, leaving her with Sam.  She shook her head and Sam looked off the way his brother went, looking deep in thought.  She tried to sit up, but the pain suddenly radiated, making her gasp.  Sam grabbed her hand and slipped his arm behind her shoulders to help her.

“The bullet hit muscle mostly I think, and it went clean through,” Sam said.  “If we can get you patched up and keep it clean, you should be fine.”

“That’s fantastic,” she said sarcastically as he practically lifted her to her feet.  She leaned into his side and took a step, but the wound gave another dull throb, making her knees weak.  Sam didn’t wait for permission, he grabbed her behind the knees with his other arm and lifted her up against his chest effortlessly.

“Whoa!  Sam!” she said, tensing out of surprise and groaning from the resulting pain.

She grabbed his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder, waiting for it to pass.  She noticed, distractedly, that he wasn’t wearing his Fed suit anymore, instead he had a green and blue plaid under his green jacket.  He carried her all the way outside, the cool air making her feel ten times better.  She lifted her head and looked around.

“You know, Sam,” she said, feeling giddy, “The view from up here is amazing.”

Sam turned his head to look at her and she gave him her adorable grin.  He chuckled and shook his head at her.  He carried her over to where the Impala was parked.  She noticed Ed staring at his feet, leaning on the white _Ghostfacers_ van.  Harry was moving around from door to door putting things in a backpack.

Ed saw her and Sam and he straightened up, heading towards them.  Sam put her down on her feet and opened the back door of the Impala.  Using the door for leverage, she sat down sideways, her feet on the runner.  She smiled when she noticed again that she had no shoes.  Everything just seemed so funny, not being dead and all.  Sam disappeared around the back of the car.

“Hey, are you ok?” Ed asked her, looking concerned behind his black rimmed glasses.

“I’ll live.  What about you and Harry?  Were you guys hurt?”

“Um, well, Harry got knifed in the woods, but Sam patched him up good.”

“I’m glad you’re ok,” she told him, giving him a warm smile he returned tensely.

Sam came back around from the side of the car holding a bottle of WD-40 and the medic kit they kept in the glove compartment.  Ed turned around and headed back to the van, shuffling his feet.  Sam bent down, sitting below her in the tight space on the car floor behind the front seat so he could see the damage.

“Oookay, I’ll be gentle,” he said, continuing to croon and reassure her while he sprayed the oil under the edge of the tape and pulled on it.  After a few sprays and pulls, the tape came clean off and Sam gave her a triumphant smile.  She smiled back, feeling tired again and leaning against the backrest.  Sam started cleaning the wound for real, preparing to bandage it.

“So, you did a good job of covering the entry wound, but you forgot about the exit.  Your shirt is all caked in.  I’m gonna have to cut it off.”

“Knock yourself out,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, but knowing it was going to hurt like a mother.

“You should’ve seen his face when we found Harry in the woods.”  Sam’s tone was soft.  Delilah didn’t say anything, but turned to look at him, his face set in concentration as he bent over her side cleaning her up.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry.  He charged in there after you, but you were long gone by then I’m guessing.” He paused, pouring some rubbing alcohol on a piece of gauze.  He was doing a good job of keeping her distracted, she hardly felt anything.  “When he came back out holding your phone… he just looked so… scared.”

The crunch of gravel got her attention and she looked up as Dean made his way over to them.  A memory swam up to the forefront of her thoughts: Dean pushing open her door in the middle of the night, head down as he sat on her bed, eyes wide and vulnerable, _I’m scared Lilah… I don’t want to lose you_.

“Gee, Sammy,” he said, his light tone not betraying any of what Sam had just told her; that damn cool and collected exterior. “You oiled up my girl and cut off her clothes?  We might have to talk about boundaries, dude.”

Delilah glanced down at herself and had to admit she looked a mess.  Her shirt was hanging open to her navel and one side was cut at an angle from front to back.  Sam had finished putting the bandage on her and he stood back up to put away the kit and oil, ignoring his brother’s stupid comment.  Delilah started shivering, partly from her ordeal and partly from the cold breeze that had picked up.  Dean shrugged off his coat and removed his shirt, holding it out towards her; it was his burgundy shirt.  She liked that colour on him, she thought randomly it seemed, her brain clinging to the strangest things in an attempt to ignore the recent events.  She took the proffered shirt and he put his coat back on over his black t-shirt.  She held the warm fabric to her face and breathed in.  It was soft and smelled so familiar: that unique blend of leather, motor oil, soap and whiskey that was Dean Winchester.  She undid the last two buttons on her ruined shirt and gingerly pulled it off one shoulder, trying not to stretch her side.  Dean helped her with the other one and then guided her arms into his sleeves, pulling the fabric up on her shoulders.  She started doing up the buttons and he kissed her hair, straightening up beside the car.  He headed towards the trunk, grabbing his bag of gear and Delilah hugged her arms, looking off towards where Ed and Harry were.  Ed looked like he was trying to get his friend’s attention, but Harry was clearly ignoring him.  She heard Sam and Dean talking to each other by the back end of the car.

“How’s Delilah doing?  She OK?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, nothing a little R&R can’t fix,” Sam answered.  “So,” he continued softly, “are we good in there?”

“Yeah,” Dean groaned softly, the car rocking on its suspension from his packing the trunk, “With the Thinman footage and the way I set the bodies, there should be enough breadcrumbs to make it look like those two psychos offed each other.”

The trunk slammed closed and the brothers moved back towards the side of the car where Delilah was sitting.  Dean leaned beside the open door and Sam came to stand facing them to the side a bit.  He was looking conflicted.

“They were just people, man.  They weren’t… demons.  They weren’t monsters. They… were just fucking people.”

“Yeah,” said Delilah, a bitter taste in her mouth, “If there’s one thing I know Sam, it’s that people are sick.  They’re capable of pretty horrible things.”

Dean’s thumb pointed at her through the open door.  “What she said.”

Sam frowned, not looking convinced.

“So, are we cool?” Ed’s voice attracted her attention and she looked up at him across the parking lot, facing Harry.  Sam turned around too.

Harry scoffed, “I don’t think we ever will be.”

“I guess Ed told Harry about Thinman?” Delilah asked softly.  Sam nodded.

“I mean,” Ed pushed on, “you know.  We made it, right?  We uh… we beat the guys.  This could be our shot at starting the old Ghostfacers again.”

“I came here with you to finish this thing with Thinman,” said Harry, incredulously, “I wasn’t just closing a chapter, Ed.  It was the whole dang book.”

“But, you saved my life back there.”  Poor Ed was looking completely confused.

“I killed a guy, Ed!” Harry burst out.

“He was a _bad_ guy, Harry.”

“He was a _guy_ , Ed.” He paused, shaking his head, looking at his former friend like any child could understand what he was trying to say. “Too many people have died ‘cause of your crap.”

Ed continued to look confused, “I’ve done all this crap for us.  I-I don’t know why you don’t see that.”

“No, no.  You did this for _you_.” Delilah shivered from the uncanny similarity between Ed and Harry’s argument and what Sam and Dean had been fighting about now for the past few months.  She almost wished the brothers could be as candid about their issues as these guys were being.  Delilah turned her gaze away from the Ghostfacers and looked at Sam.  All she could see of Dean was his brown corduroy-clad elbow, but it was clear that both brothers had stopped moving completely, just looking and listening.  She wondered if they had noticed the parallels between themselves and the other two, like she had.  “Ed, there’s a lot of things I can forgive, but this isn’t one of them.”

Silence stretched on, no one making a sound while Harry’s words resonated with all of them.

Then, Ed cleared his throat.  “So, what does this mean about us?”

Harry thought about this for a moment.  “It means…” Clearly, he was struggling to form his thoughts and feelings into coherent words, and then he sighed, “It means, it’s complicated.”

With a shake of his head, Harry grabbed the bag at his feet and walked away from Ed and the white van, not giving either one another glance.  Ed was staring after him, mirroring that lost boy look she had glimpsed on Dean after some of the messier arguments with his brother.  The short, dark-haired ex- _Ghostfacer_ drew up to the car, where they were, and stopped, staring at the ground.  When he looked up at them, his eyes were hurt and his voice wobbled a bit as he asked, “Can I get a ride from you guys?”

Delilah was heartbroken for Harry and Ed.  How hard must it be for Harry to ask the Winchesters, his perceived rivals, for help?  What must Ed be feeling, seeing his best friend walk away?  Dean must have been thinking the same thing because it was his voice, low and rough that answered, “Yeah, sure.”

Harry nodded and disappeared around the car while Dean pushed off from the Impala’s side and Sam made for the front end to sit shotgun.

Delilah was starting to feel tired, her eyes closing by themselves now that the danger was over.  Her wound was throbbing insistently, bothering her and sapping whatever little energy she had left.  She pulled her legs inside the car to sit on the bench facing the front and groaned from the effort required and the sharp twitch in her side.

“Sam,” Dean said, and she saw, through the windshield, the tall man catch something that jingled in his right hand.  Dean leaned into the car and looked at her.  He pointed to the seat, asking her if he could sit with her and she slid down the bench a little.  The throbbing pain was becoming more intense every time she moved and she leaned her head back against the seat breathing quickly in and out trying to ignore the ache. Dean sat down next to her and closed the door.  He took one look at her face and ground his teeth, but he was gentle when he raised his arm and laid it along the backrest, inviting her to lean into him.  _To hell with the pain_ , Delilah thought as she readjusted her position so she could rest in his arms.  She laid her head on his shoulder, her hip pressed up against his and her legs curled onto the seat so he could support her without her muscles straining to keep her upright.  She instantly started to feel warmer, his body heat radiating into her cold limbs.  He kissed her on the forehead and then the lips when she looked up at him. She felt a warm, lazy flutter in her chest that had nothing akin to the heat in her side as he pulled away and she wondered idly what it meant.  She was so exhausted though, she figured she’d worry about it later.  She tucked her head against the curve of his neck and closed her eyes.  She opened them again when she felt him push something into her hand.  She looked down to see that he had given her back her phone.  She looked at his face again, but he was staring ahead, keeping his expression neutral, his indifferent mask firmly set in place.  What she wouldn’t give to know what was going on in his head.  She slipped the phone into her pocket, careful not to twitch anything sensitive and closed her eyes again as Sam pulled the Impala smoothly onto the road.

“Harry,” Dean said, his voice soft but scratchy in her ear.  She opened her eyes to see Harry partly turned towards him, but staring blankly forward, out the windshield.  “You OK?”

She saw Sam, in the mirror, glance sideways at the small looking man but looked out at the road again quickly.

“Yeah,” Harry answered automatically, but then he frowned, confused, and added, “I mean, no.”  He spoke softly, sounding bewildered.  “I mean, you roll with a guy so many years, you start to think he’s always gonna be next to ya.”  Headlights illuminated his face then cast it in shadows again as cars drove in the other direction on the wet road.  At some point, it had started raining and Sam had the wipers going, all the windows covered in water droplets.  Harry went on, “Like when you're old and you’re drinking on the porch, he’ll be in that other rocking chair.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, “And then, something happens and you realize that other chair… has gone empty.”  He trailed off still looking out the windshield distractedly.

Delilah felt Dean shift slightly, but not enough to unsettle her from her position against him. His hand picked at some invisible lint on his jeans.  Delilah looked up at the rearview mirror.  Sam’s eyes trailed upwards, but went back to the road before they met hers, and therefore Dean’s.  She shifted her gaze to him directly and she could just see his knuckles working the leather on the steering wheel tensely.  The air in the car was heavy with unsaid things between the brothers.  Harry turned in his seat and looked right at Dean, “You know what I mean?”  Dean didn’t answer, but Delilah felt him shift uncomfortably again as Harry frowned.  He turned and looked at Sam who turned his head slightly, again just barely avoiding looking in the rear-view before looking back out at the road.  Harry faced front once more and went back to staring absently out the window at the passing headlights.

Delilah took a deep breath, her eyes closing by themselves, her bullet wound giving her grief again.  Sleep was calling to her and she slowly slid her head along Dean’s torso and moved her legs down the seat gingerly, trying to avoid more pain and gritting her teeth when she failed.  Dean shifted against the seat, giving her more comfortable access to his leg as she rested her head on it like a pillow.  The muscular limb did not offer much in the way of pillowy softness, but it was comforting nonetheless and she fell asleep with his hand on her shoulder, playing with her hair.

She woke up soon after as Sam pulled into Spokane.  They dropped off Harry at a bus terminal.  He was going to make his own way back home.  Take the time to think.  They climbed back into the car, Dean behind the wheel and Sam riding shotgun, leaving her the backseat to lie on.

The return trip was uneventful.  They stopped in Montana so everyone could sleep for a few hours, but were back on the road by 9 a.m. the next day.  Delilah had to admire their stamina as they traipsed into the bunker around midnight; the Winchesters sure could drive the hell out of that car.

She slowly made her way to her room, leaning against the wall as each step made her middle throb.  _This is gonna get old real fast_ , she thought to herself, irritated.  Sam had changed her bandage when they had stopped at the motel, better lighting making it much easier.  He had said the wound was looking good, confirming his earlier assessment that with a bit of rest she’d be ready for action in no time.

She pushed open the door to room 8, her room, and looked around at the Spartan décor: the Men of Letters’ grey wool bedding and the bare cement and brick walls, the monkish furniture chosen for doing research late into the night, her books on the shelf over the bed.  _Home_ , she thought as a giddy lightheadedness overtook her and she trudged over to the bed, feeling her whole body heavy with exhaustion regardless of all the sleeping she had done in the backseat of the Impala.  She gingerly climbed onto the mattress and was dead to the world as soon as her head touched the pillow.

~

The next few days were a complete blur as her body pumped all available energy into healing.  Sam and Dean both came and went at regular intervals to check up on her, bringing her food and water and checking the bandages.  She wasn’t aware of much at first; opening her eyes to find a fresh glass of cold water perspiring on the bedside table, or finding the covers pulled up to her shoulder, or Sam sitting at the desk, hunched over a book, or her favourite: waking up and finding herself in her favourite sleepwear.  She had imagined Dean helping her out of her clothes, maybe she had been in a semi-conscious state, and maybe he had bent over her with that tender look in his eyes and kissed her, the thought had put a smile on her face and she had felt that strange flutter again before she had fallen back asleep.

Slowly, she started to feel better, and she would stay awake longer.  Her body started resuming its regular functions and she found herself walking down the hallway to the washroom, the pain in her side nothing compared to what it had been before.  She wondered what time it was and how long she had been sleeping; hours? Days?  Could it be as long as a week? She looked at herself in one of the many mirrors lining the wall over each sink as she washed her hands.  She was looking pale, and her hair was a complete mess and looking clumped and dirty.  She would really like to shower.  She glanced down at the bandage on her side, it was looking clean, no trace of bleeding, but she couldn’t be sure if that was because the bleeding had stopped completely or if someone had just changed her dressing.  Getting a whiff of her body smell though, she decided a shower was necessary, she’d just have to be careful not to get the bandage wet.

She started with her hair, draping it over her head and down in front of her, keeping her movements smooth and slow.  When the warm water first hit her head, she sighed – no feeling in the world could top that of hot, cleansing water.  She lathered her head with the shampoo from the bottle that was on the tiled floor by the wall and massaged her scalp.  It felt so luxurious.  She basked under the warm water as the shampoo rinsed out and then she twisted out the excess water and draped her hair back over her shoulder.  She finished washing, managing to keep her body out of the direct water.

She sighed deeply as she wrapped a towel around her wet hair and another around her body and walked back to her room, satisfied that her side had survived the shower movements.  She got dressed, slowly pulling on her jeans and a t-shirt and only twitching once from pulling at her side.  She tried to put on some socks but found that both bending over and pulling her knee up was just too much, and she opted to go barefoot instead.  She brushed her teeth at the sink and brushed out her long hair, braiding it down her back, feeling human again. She decided to hunt down the boys to see what they were up to.

As she walked down the bunker hallway, heading for the kitchen, she wondered how they had been getting along since leaving the _Ghostfacers_ behind.  Had they had any epiphanies following the fallout between Harry and Ed?  Would they be fighting more now?  Would they be back to strictly business?  Would Sam be avoiding his brother, pushing him away?  Or had a miracle occurred in her sleep, and the Winchesters were a dynamic duo again?

As she approached the kitchen, she heard their voices coming from the main hall and she felt happy anticipation at the thought of seeing them again: her boys.  She walked up the steps, leaning on first the wall, and then the railing of the second set.  The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been before, it felt more like a cramp than a sharp, stabbing pain, but still, not the most pleasant feeling in the world.  Sam was staring intently at his computer screen, the laptop set up on the ever lit up world table.  He was wearing a thin black sweater that somehow made him look even broader than usual.  He was facing her but hadn’t noticed her yet.  Dean was pacing angrily and growling into his phone, a deep frown distorting his handsome features.  He was wearing one of his more vivid plaid shirts today: the bright red and orange pattern laid over grey and white in real contrast with his usually more subdued colours.  She felt the urge to go to him and kiss his cheek, and she started heading that way when she pulled herself up, frowning.  When had she ever greeted him like that?  His gruff outburst into his phone pulled her away from her train of thought.

“Come on Crowley, pick up!”  Crowley? Why was he trying to reach Crowley?  “Where the hell is he?  It’s not like he has a social life,” he barked at no one in particular.

“Uh…” Sam started, “Are you actually worried?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

Dean ignored his brother’s comment, listening to the phone, which is when he glanced up and noticed her standing by the hallway entrance.

“Hey, look who’s walking around again,” he said, much more cheerfully, but immediately returning his attention to his phone.

She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, although she didn’t know what she was expecting.  Sam looked over the edge of his screen at her, giving her a warm smile, which she returned.  Delilah walked to the table and pulled out the chair facing Sam.

“How long was I out?” she asked him as Dean rolled his eyes and head, a compound movement clearly conveying his annoyance with the former King of Hell.

“A few days,” Sam answered.

Dean lowered the phone from his ear and glared at it angrily.  “Guy’s got one job.  Find the first blade, bring it back.  How hard is that?”

Sam looked at his brother annoyed.  “It’s Crowley,” he said gesturing with his hands and sounding exasperated.  “He’s not exactly a team player.”

Delilah leaned back in her chair, content to listen to their bickering while she closed her eyes for a minute, her side itching.

“Yeah, but his ass is on the line too,” Dean responded fiercely. “He goes missing for weeks on end without a peep?”  He paused then grumbled, “Well not one that makes sense anyways.  Listen to this.”

Delilah opened her eyes and stared at the phone Dean had just put down on the table.  What came out of the speaker was an unintelligible blabber mixed with weepy, tremulous vowel sounds, the only word she could distinguish was _Dean_.  What had become of the terrifying and eloquent demon who had practically sent Dean running from his brother and her with a few well-chosen words?  What the hell was this?

“Is he… drunk?” she asked.

Dean screwed up his face, frowning and nodding in disbelief. A slow smile spread on Sam’s face.

“Wait a minute,” he said, hardly able to contain his mirth, “Did he… drunk dial you?”

Dean’s face fell, going from anger to dumbfounded realization, while his mouth hung open like he didn’t know what to say.  Delilah couldn’t hold back her laughter, pressing her hand on her side at the pain caused there by the action, and he turned his annoyed glare on her before grabbing his phone off the table and hitting a speed dial.  He put the phone to his ear and Delilah shared a conspiratorial smile with Sam.  Dean pulled out the chair at the end of the table and sat down.  “Come on,” he growled again, sounding irritated.

She looked at him fondly, his bluster endearing, and she noticed he hadn’t shaved in a few days, his facial hair looking soft and dark again.

“So, how’re you feeling?” Sam asked her, drawing her stare away from his brother’s face.  He hadn’t shaved either, although his scruff wasn’t quite as long as Dean’s.

“I’m better.  Don’t ask me to dance a jig, but I’m mobile.”

“That’s good.” He smiled at her again.  “We tried to reach Cas, but he’s not picking up his phone.”

Delilah shrugged indifferently as Dean hung up with a growl and jammed the offending phone into his pocket.  She rubbed at her side again, _fuck this was getting itchy_.  She resisted the urge to rip off the bandages, as if that would help her get rid of the itch.

“You ok there, champ?” Dean asked her, barely looking concerned, his eyes on the table.

“Fine.  It’s just itchy,” she said, her voice slightly strained.

“Why don’t I check the dressing?  It’s probably ready to come off anyways,” he said, his voice devoid of his earlier angry gruffness.  Delilah nodded and Dean stood up.  “Bandages are in the infirmary, I’ll go get them.”

“No, no, s’ok,” she said, getting up from the table herself with a groan, “I’ll come up with you.”

Dean nodded silently, giving her a quick once over before heading down the steps towards the hallway.

“Need any help?” Sam asked her from the table behind her.

“I got this, thanks Sam.”

She tried to straighten up but found that her side felt much better if she hunched that way a bit, keeping the muscles from stretching.  _Great_ , she thought, _now I’m walking like Igor in Frankenstein._ She watched as Dean’s back got further away with every step and she frowned.  Was he being distant on purpose?  She was trying to reconcile the caring, attentive man from just after she was shot, too upset to handle taking off the tape over her bullet wound, with the neutral, distant person she was now following down the bunker hallways.  Then again, Dean’s tenderness wasn’t exactly common, so why would she expect him to be tender right this moment?  Was it just that she wanted him to be?  When did that start?  She’d never yearned for that from anybody.  Not since her mother died and she discovered what monsters people could be.  He had disappeared around the corner while she pondered and by the time she put her foot on the first step, he was already nearly at the top of the full flight.  Ok, this was more than just a little neutral, he hadn’t even waited to see if she would need help.  This wasn’t like him.

Then Delilah pieced together a few clues: she had been hurt on a hunt, a hunt Dean had found, and now he was trying to reach Crowley.  She came to the conclusion that he was keeping his distance in order to protect her again, reminded maybe of Crowley’s taunt last time… Damnit! Hadn’t they had this conversation before?  It felt like they were stuck in a loop: Dean refuses to let her come on hunts, she insists, she gets hurt ( _he was nearly killed, she should remind him_ ), he feels guilty and becomes distant… and the cycle begins again.  By the time she reached the top step, practically pulling herself up the left-hand rail, she was fuming mad.  She walked into the medical ward and spotted Dean sitting on a stool by one of the beds, a mishmash of medical gear on a tray next to him.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check, and walked over to him.  He looked up at her and nodded towards the mattress.  She sat down and he immediately bent over her side, pulling up her t-shirt to inspect the bandage held in place with surgical tape.  She let him remove it, forcing herself not to flinch by grinding her teeth against the pulling and then the intensified itching.

“It’s looking real good.  I think we can leave this off.  You know, let it breathe.  Just don’t scratch it.”

“Thank you doctor, I’ll try to remember that,” she said scathingly.

Dean pulled back and looked at her face, surprised.  Something he saw must have betrayed her feelings because he frowned deeply.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“Nothing.  I would prefer to not keep having this argument over and over.”

“What argument?”

Delilah sighed and rolled her eyes, getting ready to scoot off the bed and go back to her room, but Dean stopped her with a hand on her thigh.  She glared at him annoyed, then sighed when he wouldn’t let go.

“Fine! I got hurt!  And now you’re feeling guilty again so you’re trying to push me away.”

Dean smiled and frowned, looking both amused and confused. “What?”

Delilah could feel her frustration making her upset, but she wouldn’t give in to her irrationally needy feelings.  She glanced down at her lap and tried to get up again, but he wouldn’t let her.  He lifted her chin with his hand so she looked at him.  _Oh,_ now _he’s being gentle_ , she thought as she suddenly felt emotions pulling her from all sides: frustration and exhaustion and that stupid weird flutter again.  She could feel her eyes prickling and she fought back with all she had to not let her emotions get the better of her.  “Why else would you not look at me?  You haven’t touched me except to change the bandage.  You haven’t…” She cut herself off, hating how distressed she sounded.

A slow smile spread on Dean’s face, making his eyes crinkle in the corners; and now he was laughing at her, she felt her cheeks starting to heat up.  “Is that what’s bothering you?  I didn’t want to hurt you, babe.  Your body needed time to heal.”

“So why didn’t you kiss me?”

His eyes darkened, an intensity dancing in the green irises, “Because, I didn’t think I could stop if I started.  Do you have any idea how you make me feel?  I want you, so bad.”

Delilah’s breath caught in her throat and her heart beat wildly hearing him echo her own unspoken desires.  She whispered, “So why aren’t you kissing me now?”

Dean’s mouth slammed onto hers demandingly, taking what he wanted.  She held onto his shirt, balling the soft fabric in her fists as she kissed him back hungrily, feeling relieved.  She pulled her left foot up onto the edge of the bed and tried pushing herself towards the middle of the mattress, but her side gave a painful throb and she pulled away from Dean with a gasp, falling back onto the thin pillow.

“Ow,” she said, covering her throbbing right side with her left hand. “Maybe, this is a little premature,” she gasped out as the pain subsided.

He looked at her and carefully swept the back of his fingers along her jaw and cheek.  Her heart leaped suddenly, thumping in her chest.  He carefully slipped one arm behind her knees and turned her legs to the side so they rested on the bed more comfortably, then he hopped on, stretching himself out on his side next to her.  He gently ran his hand down her arm and kissed her neck, trailing his lips upwards until he pressed his mouth to her ear.

“S’ok, baby.” His low, seductive rumble making her ear drum vibrate.  “Let me take care of you.”

His mouth closed onto her lips again and she felt her heart clench with sudden anxiety.  His hand slowly brushed up her stomach, pushing under the edge of her t-shirt and up towards her breasts and her adrenaline levels shot up, making her stomach explode in a flurry of wings.  She was always in control of the preliminaries, she needed to be, otherwise she was under her partner’s power and… and what?  This was Dean… she could trust him.  She wanted to trust him.

She tentatively put her hand against the soft bristles on his cheek, feeling his solid jaw working as he kissed her, his lips pressed against her open mouth, and she melted into the contact, her nervousness starting to dissipate.  He closed his hand over her breast and massaged the flesh, running his calloused thumb softly over the nipple and she sighed into his mouth, worries slowly disappearing from her mind while she gave in to his encouraging touch.  Everything he did was slow and sensual making her forget even the sterile surroundings of the bunker infirmary.  She hardly noticed him removing her t-shirt, or pulling down her jeans, he was so gentle, yet suddenly she was lying in bed with only her panties and he was still fully clothed.  When his mouth came back down on hers, she grabbed his shirt collar and pushed it back.  “Take this off,” she said against his lips, feeling the desperation growing inside her, the need to be with him, finally, pushing through her initial reticence.

“Ssh, calm down,” he answered, pulling her hand away from his clothes and bending down to kiss her again, this time his hand glided down her bare front to the soft mound between her legs.  She moaned when his fingers slipped under the edge of her panties and along her quickly moistening slit.  She clung to his shoulders, squeezing the muscles at the base of his neck as he slipped a finger inside her.  She gasped and moaned from the sensations, both physical and emotional, rippling through her.  He kissed a line down her outstretched neck and she whispered his name, unable to stop it from escaping her lips.

“I swear to God, Lilah, those noises you make are gonna make me lose control,” he said pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes while still moving his fingers in and out of her.

“So give in already.”

He opened his eyes, looking right into hers, and they were filled with passion and tenderness and desire and she reached up with her lips to close the gap between them, kissing him with all the anxiety turned ardor inside her, aching to get out.

Dean shifted his focus to her clit, making slow circles around it with his slick fingers and she gasped again.  She grabbed his shirt, clinging to it with clenched fists, pressing her forehead against the side of his neck, as his hand passed closer and closer to her hardened nub.

“Please, Dean,” she said, nearly desperate as she slid her hands into his t-shirt collar and felt his hot skin under her fingers.  Pulses of heat went through her body almost lazily and she worked hard to keep her muscles relaxed so she wouldn’t hurt her side as the slowly building orgasm overtook her like the relentless advance of a tsunami.

When the feeling finally subsided, Dean was looking down at her, a smug expression curling one side of his lips, leaning up on his elbow, his body still stretched out beside her.  Her lower regions gave another throb – she wanted more.  She wanted to feel more than just his fingers inside of her.

She laid her left hand on his clothed chest and slowly trailed it down his body.  She flattened her palm against his stomach and slipped right under his belt and into his boxer briefs.  She wrapped her fingers around his stiff cock.  He hissed between his teeth, surprised.  She slowly pulled on him, drawing a groan from his lips before laying her free hand on his cheek to pull him in for a kiss.  A skirmish of teeth and tongue later, Dean sat up and removed his two shirts, tugging them hurriedly over his head and discarding them beside the bed.  He pulled something out of his back pocket and put it down on the mattress before standing up to remove his boots, socks, jeans and underwear.

“Dean?” she asked as he bent over her to remove her own undies.  “Do you always carry a condom in your back pocket?”  She held up the foil wrapper he had tossed onto the mattress.

He gave her a mischievous grin. “No.”

She smiled back, shaking her head, “Oh, so you were expecting to get laid then.”

He ran his hands back up her legs, bending her right knee carefully.  He settled himself between her legs, leaning on his right to avoid putting pressure against her injury.  He kissed her slowly and pulled away.  “Not expecting, just hopeful.”

He gave her his big irresistible smile and she smiled back tenderly.  They kissed again then he quickly unwrapped the latex and rolled it on himself.  He stretched out over her, his arms flexing, holding himself up.  He kissed her, their lips parting and pressing together.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, looking into her eyes, his voice a low whisper.

He lined up with her, she could feel him slowly pressing against her and then sliding inside her, filling her up.  She gasped and rolled her hips instinctively, accidentally causing her side to burn unpleasantly.  Dean laid his hand on her hip, holding her.  “Lie still, baby,” he said slowly, his unwavering eyes looking intensely into hers.  He pushed in again and held her steady.  She gave in, letting him take over and do all the work, settling instead for running her hands all over his now naked body, revelling in his tightly corded muscles as he moved against her, slowly pushing in and out.  She concentrated on the slow burn of pleasure in the pit of her stomach and his unwavering eyes as he maintained eye contact.  She moaned and Dean responded with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut a moment, as he worked towards his climax.  They were both breathing heavily, Dean’s mouth coming down on hers again, forcefully, betraying his measured exterior and revealing his slowly slipping self-control.  He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.  He kept up his steady rhythm until one final thrust tipped him over the edge and he came with a soft cry in her ear.

He didn’t wait to catch his breath, instead, slipping out right away from between her legs and moving over to rest beside her, and a disconcerting anxiety tugged at her.  She nearly turned to cling to him, but stopped herself, chiding her irrationality.  Where was this coming from?  They weren’t exactly cuddlers, in fact she was usually the one who walked away first, so what was going on with her?

She shook her head and gingerly sat up in the infirmary bed, holding her throbbing side.  Dean had sat up on the edge of the bed and slipped his boxers and jeans back on and was pulling on his socks and boots.  He turned to look at her, a frown on his face.

“You OK? You’re white as a sheet.”

She wasn’t about to tell him about all the weird thoughts running rampant through her mind, so she just shook her head.  “I’m just tired I think,” she said.

He leaned towards her and seized her lips with his in a surprise kiss she hadn’t expected.  She laid her hand on his outstretched throat as he pulled away a little and looked her in the eye.  “Let’s get you back to bed then.”

She lowered her legs over the side and Dean handed her her clothes.  She focused on putting them back on, trying to ignore the nagging uncertainty rolling around.  Oddly enough, Crowley’s words to her from all those months back, came to her unbidden: _Good for a poke every now and then when the pressure builds up._

So what if that’s all this was… that kind of arrangement had never bothered her in the past.  Why would it bother her now?  What more was there?  As they made their way down the stairs, Dean walking behind her, she found herself thinking how nice it would be if he held her hand, or something.  She frowned, did she really want to hold his hand?  She’s not into that romance novel bullshit.  Apparently, being shot in the side had made her completely lose her mind.

They reached her open door, the lights on inside illuminating her room.  She paused in the doorway and turned towards him slightly, opening her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make her sound clingy and needy.  She turned around again and took a step inside, but Dean wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and pulled her back towards him.  He looked at her face, tilting his head to the side like he was trying to understand something he saw there.  How much of this craziness was her face betraying? She was suddenly scared that even though she hadn’t said anything, Dean had already guessed that she had turned into a weepy, needy, clingy… girl.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Lilah?” he asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

He ran his hand down the side of her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  He bent down to kiss her sweetly, his lips pressing gently against hers.  She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, keeping him right where he was.  She opened her mouth and closed her lips on his as they kissed, in the doorway of her room, his hands resting on her hips.

She finally pulled away, dropping her arms from around his shoulders reluctantly, her head and body clamouring for more of his touch.  He opened his eyes and looked at her, his mouth hanging loosely open as he watched her.  _Oh, screw it_ , she thought.  “You know,” she started hesitantly, “I wouldn’t mind… if you stayed.  I mean, if you want to.  You could… stay.” _Stupid stupid stupid_.

“Mmmm,” Dean hummed just before pressing his lips to hers again.  “I gotta get back to my brother.  We’re working on something.”

“Oh,” of course, “Are you working a case?” she asked, trying to mask her disappointment.

“No, actually.  We’re working on finding Abaddon.  That’s why I was trying to reach Crowley before.  We’re tired of waiting around for that prick to make good on his word.”  Delilah nodded, absently staring at the floor.  Dean took a step closer and tilted her chin up towards him.  “But, I’ll come join you later… If you still want me.”

He bent down and kissed her again and she felt a rush of happiness sweep through her, her stomach doing flips and her whole body tingling in anticipation.  He pulled away and gave her a parting smile as he headed down the hallway, back towards the main hall.

Delilah closed the door and made for the bed, unbuttoning her jeans and letting them fall to the ground before settling herself under the sheets.  She was pensive and found her thoughts to be much clearer with Dean gone.  What was this feeling?  She was so confused by everything.  It was like when she had escaped the angels and Dean had taken care of her.  What was it about his tenderness that triggered emotional avalanches inside her?  And is that all it was?  Her reacting to his own actions?  When he was tender she went all blubbery and when he was passionate her blood was set on fire?  And, of course, when he was being an ass she got angry.  Somehow, she had developed an emotional attachment to Dean that ran much deeper than for any of the men she had been with before.  Maybe it was because they had history and they were hunters together.  She’d had a sexual/friendship kind of relationship with someone before, when she first started working after school, but it had felt awkward and forced.  With Dean, it just flowed, and she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed being with him, and being close to him.  He offered both comfort and protection and clearly got upset if she was in trouble, based on what Sam had said.  So where did you draw the line between sexual compatibility and relationship?  Between meeting base physical needs and a deeper emotional connection?  Delilah found herself wishing she had a close friend she could talk to about this, but the only person who fit the bill these days, well ever really, was Sam, and somehow, she didn’t think he’d be comfortable discussing this with her… especially considering his issues with trusting his brother.

She wasn’t aware that she had fallen asleep, but it must have been some time later that someone knocked on her door because the lights in the hallway had dimmed to almost nothing.  She opened her eyes blearily as she focused on the broad shouldered and slightly bowlegged shape of Dean as he came into the room and closed the door behind him.  Her brain sent a thousand tingling signals to all sorts of strange places seeing him and she found herself smiling sleepily in the darkness.  She heard the rustle of his clothes hit the ground as he stripped down and then crawled into bed beside her.  He slid his arm behind her neck and pulled her into his shoulder.  Delilah kissed the skin there and ran her hand over his chest slowly and up towards his broad neck.  He turned his head towards her and she kissed him languidly as her hand moved back down his abdomen towards his hips.  She wasn’t really in the mood for sex, but why else would he be there?  _Good for a poke…_ she heard Crowley say again.

Dean stopped her hand with his just before she reached the edge of his boxers and brought it up to his lips.  He kissed her fingers and then her forehead.  “Sssh,” he said, “Time to sleep, Lilah.” And he tucked her head under his chin and held on to her hand, holding it against his bare chest.

_What was this feeling?_

⭐


	8. Can't Fight This Feeling

The bed was empty when she woke up, Dean must have slipped out so he wouldn’t wake her.  She stood in front of the small cabinet mirror over the sink in her room trying to have a better look at the healing bullet wounds. She rubbed at her side, noticing the different texture of the healing skin.  She was definitely going to get a scar, but hey!  Scars tell stories, and that one would make a hell of a story to impress men in bars.

She frowned, slightly surprised by her own thought.  Impressing men in bars indeed.  Not like she was likely to do that again too soon.  At least she hoped.  Was it alright to hope for that?  It wasn’t wrong for her to enjoy being with Dean… was it?  Wait… was she with Dean or were they just… What were they?  Shit, were they a thing now? She twisted without thinking and was rewarded with a sharp pain in her side that put a stop to her madly racing thoughts.  The pain subsided quickly to a dull throb and she was able to get dressed completely that morning, taking a little extra care tying her bra and putting on her socks so she wouldn’t stretch the sensitive new skin.  She had undone her braid and her hair was now hanging loose down her back in waves.

She yawned and rubbed some of the sleep from her eyes as she walked to the kitchen and headed to the fridge for milk.  She grabbed the cereal off the shelf and set it and the milk down on the table.  She also grabbed a bowl and a spoon from the coffee bar against the wall and poured the flaky cereal into it.

As she ate, her thoughts returned to Dean, and her confusion continued to torment her.  Why did any of this have to mean anything other than what it was: total insanity.  She had clearly lost her mind when she was shot.  Delilah’s head started to pound and she leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her face in her hands tiredly.  She didn’t notice Sam when he walked into the room and she jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Hey!” he said. “Whoa! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.  How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered with a dismissive groan, rubbing at her side.  “Where are you with the search for Abaddon?”

Sam turned his frown on her but didn’t push.  “Uh,” he said, grabbing a cup off the coffee bar and serving himself some coffee.  “Nowhere.  We’ve got nothing.  Abaddon seems to be keeping her head down and we still haven’t heard from Crowley, so no news on the First Blade either.”

Delilah finished her cereal and got up to bring her bowl to the sink.

“I got it, Delilah.”

She let out a laugh, and was pleased to discover it didn’t trigger an arrow of pain in her side like the previous day.  “Right, Sam.  What am I… sick or something?  I can do my dishes.”

She turned around and spotted Sam’s smile as he raised his hands to his head in surrender.

“Alright, alright… I was just trying to be nice, but you obviously got this covered.”

“Damn right I do,” she added with a huff and a nod of her head.  She put the dishes down in the industrial sized sink and tried to reach for the soap and rag.  Before she could though, Sam had snatched them with his long arms and held them out of reach.  Delilah glared at him.

“Cheater,” she grumbled.

“Go sit down.  I’m glad you’re feeling better, but there’s no point going nuts, you’ll just end up back in bed… because of dishes.”

Delilah sat down at the table grumbling, “It’s just a bowl,” as Sam did a quick job of it, setting it out to dry on the counter.  She looked around the kitchen and noticed how spotless it was.

“I see Dean managed to find the time to clean even with the research.”

Sam laughed, “You know Dean, anything is better than research.”

“Hmmm.”

It felt good laughing with Sam again, things had been so tense with him ever since she and Dean... hooked up?  Delilah shook her head at her brain again, _stop thinking about it_!  Sam turned around and grabbed his coffee off the table.

“I’m working in the war room today.  You coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll get my tablet.”

She stood up again, feeling a little more strain than before, but she ignored it, heading out the side door and back down to her room.  The hallways were quiet: no music drifting down the garage steps, no shots being fired in the gun range, no talking coming from the main hall… where was Dean?

She joined Sam at the world table and rolled a chair over to sit beside him.  On the table in front of her, there was a glass of water and a couple white pills.  She stared at them then looked at Sam questioningly.

“Ibuprofen,” he said, not taking his eyes off his screen, “It’ll help with the pain you don’t have.”

She smiled to herself, funny Sam.  She took the pills and swallowed them without the water, then activated her tablet.

“Ok, what are we looking for?”

They spent the next hour and a half exchanging information on the Mark of Cain.  She told Sam what she had discovered from her previous research on Cain and Abel and he told her what he knew about how Dean got the mark.  Delilah found it difficult to talk about the Mark without also thinking about the bearer, and she kept lapsing into contemplative silences as strange thoughts went through her head and questions played on repeat.  During one such silence, Sam turned towards her.

“Are you getting tired?  Did you want to go back to your room?”

“What?” she asked him, confused, “No.  No, sorry Sam.  I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

“No, not really,” she said, a little distracted.

“Come on, you’ll feel better after.”

Delilah looked at him, he was looking at her so earnestly and, to be honest, he was the only friend she had.  She took a deep breath.

“I think I have feelings for your brother,” she told him, quickly.

Sam didn’t react at first, just sat there and stared at her with a slightly alarmed look in his eyes.  Then he stood up, nearly knocking over the chair.  “I’m gonna need a drink, I think.”

Delilah panicked a little at his reaction and she called out after him as he disappeared into the library, “I’m sorry, Sam.  It’s not important.  Just forget I said anything.”

He came back with the crystal decanter and two glasses.  He poured a measure of scotch into each glass, downing his portion in one gulp and poured himself another before sitting back down.  Delilah was feeling ridiculous, obviously, she wasn’t going to talk about this with Sam, either he still hated his brother and he would be angry at her, or, he and Dean had made up and everything she said would be reported back to him.  Either way, this was not going to be the most comfortable conversation to have… even with morning drinks.

After a minute or so of Sam looking like a deer in headlights, however, he started asking her questions, trying to get a better understanding of what was bothering her.  And after a few hesitations she finally decided to just open up and spill.  The entire jumble came out in a pile of anxiety as she laid out her questions and concerns.  He sat and listened, occasionally sipping at his scotch.  When she was done, they just sat in silence.  Delilah finally reached for her own drink and downed it too, wincing at the sharp woody taste, then put the glass down.

“Ok,” Sam said, clearing his throat, “Here’s how I see it.”  He paused and Delilah leaned towards him, giving him her full attention.  “Your issue comes from not knowing how to label what you’re feeling, right?” He glanced at her and she nodded expectantly.  “Ok, so if you don’t know what to label it… just don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Label.  Look, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that trying to define a hunter’s life by the standards of ‘normal society’ is just pointless.  There is nothing normal about the way we live.  And I think, what’s confusing you is that you’re trying to find a place for that lifestyle in a construct designed for ‘normal.’”  Delilah nodded, what he was saying made a lot of sense, but her brain still buzzed with uncertainty.  Sam looked at her and sighed.  “Does being with Dean make you happy?” he asked her.

She thought about her time spent with Dean, and she couldn’t recall being happier than when she was with him, even when that was just sitting in the car with him on their way to a hunt.  She truly enjoyed just being near him.  She turned to Sam, “Yes.”

“Well, it can’t be that bad, can it?  No matter what _it_ is.”

She smiled, could it be that simple?  Here she was nearly making herself sick with this when the solution was to just do what she’d been doing ever since she met the Winchesters… just go with it.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem… Let’s just keep these kinds of talks about my brother to a minimum, ok?”

“Deal.”

They looked at each other and suddenly they both started laughing.  Delilah was so relieved that their friendship had survived all this stuff between her and Dean intact.  She liked being friends with Sam, it would upset her very much if he weren’t around anymore.

“Hey,” Dean said from the hallway entrance, making them both turn towards him suddenly.  She couldn’t help the wide grin that plastered itself to her face when she saw him.  He stepped closer, removing his coat and slinging it on the back of one of the chairs around the table, returning her smile with a quirk of his mouth.  His eyes landed on the decanter and empty glasses, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing important,” answered Sam and he winked at Delilah who felt her cheeks warm up.

Dean frowned, but didn’t push, instead he came around to their side of the table and kissed the top of Delilah’s head affectionately, before grabbing a chair and sitting down, leaning back and crossing his ankles up on the table.

With Dean there, and her head cleared of her silly doubts, they worked on the problem at hand: how to get the First Blade so they could kill Abaddon.  No matter how they looked at it, it all seemed to come down to Crowley going AWOL.

“If you can’t reach Crowley, do you guys know any other demons?” she asked them, a yawn forcing its way out.  They had been sitting there discussing this for hours and she was starting to feel tired again.

“Uh, no,” Dean answered, “Crowley’s the only one we know… socially speaking,” he added jokingly.

“Yeah, but before he was King of Hell, Crowley said he was King of the Crossroads… do you think he still keeps tabs on crossroads deals?” Sam asked.

“You think he’d keep track of that?  Isn’t he on the run from Abaddon?” Delilah asked, confused.

“He’s not so much on the run as running a campaign… Crowley thinks everything can be negotiated.  He’s a politician at heart,” Sam answered.

“He’s certainly enough of a scumbag for it,” Dean said.  He stared at the table pensively for a moment, “Well, if he’s still in charge of deals, then his minions’ll know where he is.”  He slapped his hands and rubbed them with relish, a smile on his face.  “We haven’t had a good demon torture gig in a while.”

They sprang into action after that, somehow turning the bunker into a bustling hive of activity just the two of them.  They came and went around her, gathering supplies and stuffing them in duffels along with their usual armoury of weapons.  When they were ready to go, Delilah stood up, and walked around the table to stand beside Dean.  He grabbed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, glancing at her, concern on his face.

She gave him a reassuring smile, “I’m going to stay here, continue research.  Maybe I’ll find a clue while you’re out.”

Sam was standing close to the stairs, a bag on his shoulder and Dean turned towards him as he dropped his own bag onto the table.  He nodded to his brother, “I’ll catch up, Sam.”

Sam nodded his head and gave her a quick smile from behind Dean, “See ya later,” he said to her and then turned to continue towards the garage.

Dean turned back towards her, “You ok?”

She smiled, “I’m fine, Dean.  Just tired, but I’m still kicking ass.”

He lifted his hand and ran the back of his fingers down her jaw.  “That’s my girl,” he said, then he leaned down, cupping her face in his hand, his fingertips lost in her hair, and kissed her tenderly, closing his eyes before meeting her lips and Delilah was filled with that fluttery feeling she wasn’t supposed to try to name.  She focused instead on the feel of his soft lips as they moved against hers, the scratch of his scruff, the smell of his skin and the feel of his body as she put her arms around his neck and he moved closer.  He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes, “I’ll bring back food for later.”

“Ok,” she answered with a smile.

His eyes crinkled and he dropped another quick kiss on her mouth before stepping away from her and picking up his bag again and his jacket to go join his brother in the garage.  Delilah kept watching until his jean clad back had disappeared down the steps and around the corner.  Then she grabbed her tablet off the table and headed for the more comfortable library chairs.

~

They came back, later that evening, laughing and smiling and Delilah couldn’t help but feel relieved and grateful that for whatever reason, the Winchesters were acting like brothers again.  She had been sitting in the library, in one of the high-backed leather chairs, reading over her notes and searching familiar websites for clues on the Mark of Cain that she might have missed the first few times around; anything to help them find the next step.  The laughter had drifted to her from the kitchen and she had put aside her tablet and gotten up to investigate, finding Sam and Dean in high spirits opening packets of take out and uncapping beer bottles.

When she stepped down into the kitchen, Dean gave her his signature smile and Sam was laughing his quick bark of a laugh.  She felt giddy inside, it had been so long since she had seen either of them in such good moods.

As they settled at the table to eat, they told her all about their fruitless encounter with the crossroads demon they had summoned.  She was puzzled, how could a useless summoning with little to no new information make them so cheerful?  The mystery was solved when they told her who the demon had been possessing – none other than Snooki… which, actually, explained quite a bit about the reality show star’s success.

“Ah, you shoulda seen her face when Sam started the exorcism… fucking priceless,” Dean said, leaning his elbow on the table, a smile on his lips, and taking a gulp of his beer as he chuckled.

She hadn’t had any useful information for them mostly just gossip about the situation in Hell: Crowley hadn’t been seen in months and many of his loyalists were abandoning ship, switching sides to Abaddon.  According to the demon, she was ready to make her move to claim the throne.

“So,” Delilah started, frowning from her confusion, “If no one’s seen Crowley, where the hell is he?”

“Last they heard, Crowley was somewhere in the Western Pacific,” Sam said, “So we figure that’s where he was looking for the blade.”

“Makes sense,” Delilah said, “You told me Cain said he threw the blade in the deepest ocean, right?  Well the Mariana Trench is in the Western Pacific and that’s supposed to be the deepest point of the ocean.”

Both boys blinked at her, Sam with a beer bottle poised at his lips while he stared at her.  Then suddenly, they were a flurry of words as the new line of inquiry opened up possibilities they hadn’t considered yet.  Delilah tried to keep up, but it was almost like they were speaking code, not bothering to finish their sentences.  Sam suddenly stood up and headed out the door, towards the war room.  Dean stayed behind, picking up the now empty take-out cartons.  Delilah yawned widely, unable to stop her exhausted brain from sending the involuntary signal.  She leaned forward over the kitchen table and rested her head on her bent arms, watching Dean’s graceful movements as he cleaned up the food mess; putting empty cartons in the trash and left-overs in the fridge.

His task finished he turned and looked at her, resting on the table.  She could see him through her slowly closing eyelids.  He sat down on the stool beside her and put his hand on her thigh.

“Why don’t you go on to bed?  You’ve done a lot today.”

“There’s more to do, I’m not that tired,” she replied sleepily, closing her eyes.

He smiled and stood up, laying a hand on her hunched shoulder and squeezing.  “Come on!  Up you get.”

She groaned and pushed herself to her feet, satisfied that even in her tired state, her side wasn’t hurting too much anymore.  She turned her head towards him and he bent down to kiss her goodnight without any hesitations.  She smiled sleepily and headed out the side door towards her room while he headed for the fridge, grabbing a couple of beers before going out towards the hall.  Her mind was blissfully free of worries, her earlier conversation with Sam having done wonders to calm her anxieties.  She was pushing open her door when she realized she had forgotten her tablet in the library where she had been working before the boys got back with the food.  She walked down the hall, past Dean’s room, and turned right, heading for the back door.  She entered the large library room with its weapons and books and research artifacts and walked to the padded chairs in the centre section to grab her tablet.

The sound of her name drifting in from the hall caught her attention.

“So, what’s going on with you and Delilah?” asked Sam, and she moved closer to the entrance.

“Sammy, you’re a grown man.  Do what all grown men do when they have questions about sex… watch porn,” answered Dean evasively.

“Jerk,” replied Sam, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Delilah found herself standing still behind the wall next to the doorway that led out to the war room, completely transfixed by their conversation.

“What is it Sam? Envious of your awesome big brother?”

Delilah expected a derisive snort to Dean’s asinine comment, but Sam’s quiet, pensive response surprised her.

“Maybe I am.  I dunno.  It just seems, nice.  You know?  To have someone who knows you and the life.  You don’t have to constantly pretend around her, she gets it.”

“Hmmm.” Dean paused.  She heard the sound of glass being set down on the table before he went on.  “You still thinking about getting out sometime?”

Delilah was amazed at the tone their conversation had taken: what had started out as potentially dangerous territory had turned into a genuine heart-to-heart, free of the sarcasm and anger that had tainted all their interactions for months.  The way they were speaking now resonated with trust and amiability, something she had only ever gotten glimpses of since she started her involvement with the Winchesters.

“Yeah, every now and then, I guess,” responded Sam, “Sometimes I think I’d be nice, you know – meet a girl, fall in love, get married,” she heard him chuckle, “kids.”

“Seriously?” Dean sounded as surprised as she was, “You want to bring kids into this life?”

“I dunno.” A soft sigh and another glass clink came from the room. “I wonder sometimes, who’s going to be left to remember us… when we’re gone.  I mean, what are we leaving behind, really?  Other than a trail of dead bodies.”

There was silence in the other room, no noises from keyboards, no clinking glass bottles, just quiet contemplation as she also considered what Sam had just said.  It had never bothered her to be alone and isolated, so this need to be remembered by future generations was not something she understood really, but she could tell it was bothering Sam.

Dean spoke up.  “Know what Lisa told me once?  She told me we make a difference in the lives of the people we save.  That’s what we’re leaving behind.”  There was another long pause, then he added, lightly, “Of course, that was before I royally fucked up her and Ben’s life with our bullshit.”

“Haven’t heard you talk about Lisa in years, man,” Sam said, reverently.

“Gotta move on some time, dude.” Delilah got the impression that this was not something Dean would normally say, Sam must have thought the same thing: she could almost see the frown on his face.

“You’re different, Dean.”  Dean mumbled something she couldn’t hear, then Sam went on sounding distant and sad.  “Jessica, Lisa, Amelia… we tried so hard to shield them from all this.  Maybe that’s the difference with Delilah, she’s part of the life as much as we are now.”

“Yeah, I can’t even protect Lilah from herself,” Dean answered glumly, then his tone took on an amazed quality.  “She’s this tiny little thing running around waving her arms at all the monsters yelling, ‘Hey! I’m cute! Come and get me!’” Like hell she was!  Cute? Tiny?  She’d have to remember to kick his ass when she was better.  “She’ll be the death of me I swear,” he finished with a smile in his voice.

Sam’s genuine laughter filled the room.  “Cheers to that!” he said, followed by the sound of clinking glass bottles.

Suddenly, Dean’s phone started ringing, the beeping tone startling her out of her reverie and she headed for the back door again to quietly make her escape without being detected.  The overheard conversation went around and around in her head, she had no idea how to interpret the meaning behind Dean’s words about her, and she took Sam’s advice again and stopped trying to label it.  _Just go with it,_ she thought, smiling.  She changed into her usual shorts and t-shirt to sleep and lay down on her left side, snuggling into her pillow and falling asleep without a further distracting thought.

~

It turns out, the phone call was from Crowley.  Dean woke her up a little while later to tell her he and Sam were heading out to pick him up.  They’d be gone for a day or two at most, depending how long it took to clean up the mess he had gotten himself into.  _What kind of mess could the King of Hell get into that he couldn’t get himself out of?_ she wondered.

The next morning, she got up and decided it was time to get rid of the weakness in her side.  The way things were going, she couldn’t afford to still be hurt, or she wouldn’t be ready when she was needed.  She did some light stretching and, satisfied that her mobility was getting better even if it wasn’t yet perfect, she headed to the gym to run on the treadmill, pushing past the low energy.  She also did a grocery run, so she was sure to have something nutritious to eat, instead of the junk food Dean had a habit of filling the shelves with.  By the time they came back home, late the next day, dragging a dishevelled looking Crowley in shackles between them, she almost felt normal again, only certain moves still causing her pain.

She followed them down to the dungeon and stood in a corner of the cell watching Dean secure the demon to the chair in the middle of the devil’s trap with the specially designed chains and manacles etched with spell work to keep him confined to both the room and the body.

“Hello, Lamb.  Still hanging around with your wayward shepherds I see.”

His voice was its usual low, rough timber, but something was off about him, he looked sickly: a sweaty sheen covering his face.

“Hello, Crowley.  You’ve looked better,” she told him, leaning against the back of the shelves.  Sam brought in a table from one of the other storage rooms and set it down in the other corner facing Crowley.  He disappeared again and Dean stood up from behind the demon, yanking on the chains to make sure they were secured.

“Alright Crowley,” he said, wiping his hands as Sam walked back in carrying a chair and his laptop, “Be good, tells us what you found out about the blade, and maybe Sam’ll read you a bedtime story.”

Sam glared at Dean as he turned around and slapped him on the back of the shoulder.  Delilah just glimpsed Sam’s annoyed expression before she followed the older brother out the opening in the shelves and then the door into the hallway.

“What’s wrong with him?” Delilah asked Dean as they headed back up to the main hall.

“He’s addicted to human blood.  When we found him, he had already drained one guy and he had just stolen a blood bag from a bank.”

“The hell?  What does he do? Drink it like a vampire?”

“Naw, he injects it.”

Delilah frowned, confused, “Why would he do that?  What does that do?”

They had reached the world table and Dean turned to sit on the edge of it, facing her.  “It’s part of the demon cure the Men of Letters developed.  You inject the demon with purified human blood and he slowly becomes more and more human.  There’s an incantation and then the demon is human again.  Alive and kicking.”

“You’re shitting me!  That’s… all sorts of fucked up.”

“Tell me about it.  Sam almost cured Crowley last May.  It was supposed to be the last trial to close the gates of Hell…”  Dean trailed off distractedly.

 _Fucking Christ_ , she thought, remembering what Dean had told her about the trials back when they had worked the banshee case… It felt like such a long time ago.  Delilah stepped a little closer to Dean, shaking her head and put her hands in her jeans back pockets.

“So… What?  Crowley got a taste for the stuff?  What does it do?”

Dean crossed his arms on his chest.  “Makes him feel.  Turns him into a blubbering idiot if you ask me.  Problem is, one of the bodies we found in the hotel was a demon.  A spy for Abaddon.  We think he told her about the First Blade and she told the ginger.”

“Shit.  So now it’s a race to find it?”

“Yup! And our only information is coming from the crying lump down there, going through detox.”  Delilah turned and sat back against the table next to him, feeling dejected.  Hopefully Crowley had something for them to go on because otherwise, things were not looking good. “You seem to be doing better,” Dean interrupted her thoughts.

She turned her head to see him looking at her, giving her body a once over as he uncrossed his arms and leaned his hands on the table edge.  She gave him a roguish smile and pushed off from the table coming to stand in front of him.  She put her hands on his chest, pushing his over shirt aside gently, and his hands came to rest on her hips.  A slow crooked smile met her gaze as she looked up at him.

“I am feeling better,” she told him, lowering her voice seductively. “I was thinking that maybe later, I could show you, just how good I feel.”

Dean hummed and pulled her up against him, “Were you, now?  Just how are you planning on doing that?”

He tilted his head down towards her and she stretched up to meet his lips, pressing herself against him as they kissed fervently, his hands on her hips pulling her close.  Delilah was already feeling the slow burn of arousal in her abdomen and she slipped her hands around his torso to hold him tightly.

“Urgh!” Sam suddenly exclaimed loudly from the doorway behind her.  They broke the kiss, Delilah turning her head to look at him, but staying in Dean’s arms.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” she asked him, concerned as he shook his arms, looking agitated.

“Crowley, staring at me, talking about sharing… a moment and being… bonded.  Urgh!  I feel dirty.”

Delilah burst out laughing, stepping out of Dean’s embrace, but staying close.

“What can I say, Sammy?” Dean said, mockingly.  “It’s the hair.  Throws people off.”

“Ha ha,” Sam responded sarcastically, “Laugh it up.  I’m not the one he drunk dialled.”

Delilah chortled, amused as always with their ribbing.  “Did you get anything useful out of him?”

“Just some long ass story about unmanned subs and smugglers and pirates.”  Delilah raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Does he know where it is or not?” asked Dean.

“I did some digging around on the internet, found a name.  André Develin.  He’s been shopping a blade around that he bought off some pirates.  The stories fit.”

“Alright,” Dean said, pushing off from the table, “Make the call, see if we can’t set up a meeting with this Develin guy.  Maybe we can con him out of it, threaten him with a trafficking fine or something.”

“Yeah, ok.  I’ll see what I can do.  But I am done with Crowley.”

Dean took Delilah’s hand and headed for the kitchen hallway, pulling her behind him.  “Aw, come on Sam!  Poor guy thinks you shared a moment.  You should at least let him down easy.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Dean’s laughter bounced off the walls of the hallway, echoing around the bunker like music and Delilah couldn’t help but smile.  She followed Dean all the way to her room, the embers of passion warming her up as she anticipated what they would be doing in just a few moments.  Dean pushed the door open and stepped aside so she could go in first.  She hadn’t bothered to make the bed that morning and the sheets were pushed off to the side, her pillows all askew.  She walked up to the bed, straightening the pillows automatically.

She felt Dean’s presence as he came up behind her silently.  He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed a line down the side of her neck while slowly sliding his hands down her arms.  Delilah turned around and took his face in her hands, bringing him to her mouth for a long, luxurious kiss.  He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him, her hands on his chest.  The kiss built up in ardour as passion took over and soon lips mixed with tongue and teeth as Delilah clung to him.  She moved her hands up and over his shoulders, pushing off his shirt and dragging it down his arms.  He pulled his hands out of the sleeves and let the plaid fabric fall to the ground, his hands quickly coming back to her, finding the edge of her t-shirt and pulling upwards.  She raised her hands over her head and the shirt was gone, followed closely by her bra.  Dean’s hands cupped her breasts and massaged them, as she reached for his belt, unbuckling it.

Pretty soon, they were both naked and still standing by the bed.  Dean reached down and cupped her ass with his hands, pulling her up to wrap her legs around his waist.  She pulled her mouth away from his, gasping and breathing heavily, “Dean,” she said running her hands up into his hair, “I want you.  So much.  You make me crazy.” She was already sounding breathy and desperate to her ears.  He took a step and climbed onto the bed, holding on to her as he leaned forward, laying her back on her pillows and kneeling between her legs.  He was looking at her with a stunned look on his face: eyes open wide and lips parted.  She frowned slightly, “What’s that look for?” she asked him, running her hands over his shoulders and down his back.

“I don’t know, I…” he said, his husky voice trailing off.

She looked into his eyes and she felt that warm, fluttery feeling go through her again as he struggled with his words.  “Ssshh,” she said, kissing him, “Don’t worry about it.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close as she kissed him, pouring all her unnamed emotion into it.  She pushed on his shoulder, guiding him to roll to the side and rolling with him so she was on top.  She kissed his lips, then his nose and his cheek, continuing in a line down the side of his neck and along his collar bone.  All the while he watched her; his eyes fixed on hers, every time she glanced up between kisses, no trace of humour or mischief, just tenderness and deep want.  His hands squeezed her thighs as she ran her hands all over his chest and down his abs.  “I can’t get enough of you, Dean,” she said between kisses down his chest, “I always want more.  It’s like a drug.”

He sat up and slipped one of his hands behind her head, tangling in her hair, the other reaching around to hold her with his arm.  He kissed her forcefully, his lips demanding as they devoured each other.  She wanted to stay in his arms, kissing him just like this, forever.

She stroked his smooth chest, feeling his muscles twitch under her fingers as she glided down his stomach and into his lap.  She pulled away from his mouth and wrapped her hand around his erection, drawing a moan from his throat.  He drew her in for another kiss, pulling her further up his lap.  Delilah raised herself higher up on her knees, tilting back his head to keep kissing him, pressing herself against his upper body.  He kissed his way down her throat while his hands smoothed up her thighs and cupped her ass, pulling her against him.

She was so ready to feel him inside her, her juices nearly running down her leg she was so turned on.  She reached down between them and stroked his cock again, feeling how hard it had gotten, swollen with his desire.  She looked down into his eyes, and her heart accelerated when their gazes connected, sending an electric shock to her system.  She didn’t think she had ever wanted anyone more than she wanted him.

She crashed her mouth against his and he raised his arms to her back, holding her tightly.  She slowly started to lower herself, guiding him to her pussy and feeling him push inside her tight sheath.  She threw back her head and let out a moan, feeling his cock filling her up inch by inch until he was nestled deep inside.  She indulged in the feel of him, not moving while her blood pumped into her sex, her nerve endings sending a million pleasure signals to her brain.

And then Dean twisted them around, still holding her tightly, and lay his body on top of hers.  He pulled back and pushed in slowly a few times, driving her wild with his soft grunts in her ear.  She reached down and grabbed his ass, trying to increase the pace of his thrusts.  He pushed up on his hands, his muscles tightly corded under his skin as he pushed into her hard, Delilah crying out from pleasure.  He did it again, and then again faster, driving into her roughly.  Delilah drew up her knees and met each of his thrusts with her hips, barely noticing the twinge in her side and choosing to ignore it, the feeling drowned by the ecstasy.

Emotions and sensations were piling on top of each other and she could feel herself rushing towards her release.  She tried to suppress it, not wanting this to be over just yet.  Almost like he was reading her mind, Dean slowed the pace, pressing his body down on hers, holding up one of her legs.  They looked at each other a moment before his mouth came down onto hers for a bruising kiss.

He rolled to the side, suddenly, pulling out of her completely, and Delilah made to follow him, only he stopped her, turning her body away from him so she was on her side facing the room.  She didn’t have time to wonder what he was up to, instead he snaked one arm under her neck and held her across the shoulders as the other hand roamed down her side and to her hip as he pulled her against his chest.  He pressed his mouth to her ear, kissing it, before he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and nibbled it with his teeth, his stubble scratchy on her neck, her pleasure centres buzzing with activity.  The hand on her hip moved down between her legs and she felt his fingers parting her lips and dipping inside.  She gasped when he simultaneously pinched one of her nipples and rolled her clit with his deft fingers.

“Dean,” she moaned out, in the throws of passion, pushing her hips back against him, feeling his cock just waiting for round two.  He rubbed her in slow steady circles, nipping at her shoulder, causing a series of gasps and moans to fall from her lips as the pleasure built up again.  She pushed it down once more, desperate to find her release with him inside.

“Dean,” she gasped, “I’m so close.”  She tilted her hips and parted her thighs in such a way that his cock was close to her pussy again, she could feel the head.  “Please, Dean.”

He quickly adjusted his position to line up with her and pushed inside, the tight new angle feeling just amazing for her and she buried her face in the pillow as he slowly pumped into her and rubbed her clit.  They were both breathing heavily, heat rushing to her extremities as suddenly an explosion of pleasure burst from her core and she tensed all her muscles, squeezing him tightly inside and clinging to his arm around her shoulders while he kept right on pumping.  He pulled out abruptly and made to finish himself off with his hand, but Delilah, quick as lightning, turned herself over and wrapped her hand around him.  He closed his eyes, his mouth open, his breathing heavy.  She pushed him onto his back and leaned down, taking him into her mouth.  Dean let out a startled gasp as she sucked him, tasting herself on him.  It only took a few pulls and his come was spilling onto her tongue and down her throat as she swallowed around him.

She straightened up again, when he was finished, pressing her hand against her side, finally feeling the pinch there from the exertion.  _Totally worth it though_ , she thought as she rubbed the sensitive spot where she had been shot the previous week.  Dean sat up beside her and lay his hand on her cheek.  He leaned forward and kissed her slowly.  When he pulled away again, he had that stunned and slightly confused look in his eyes.  She could tell his breathing was a bit more laboured than it should be and she lay her hand on his chest, her fingertips pressing just above his collarbone.  She could feel his heart pounding.  She looked back up into his eyes and kissed his swollen lips.  When she pulled away, he opened his eyes again and seemed a little calmer.

“Stay with me,” he said hoarsely, looking so completely vulnerable, and she understood in his words that he didn’t mean just in that moment, but a much longer time.

She put her arms around his neck, his hand splayed in the centre of her back and she kissed him again before answering, “I’m not going anywhere.”

⭐

_And I can't fight this feeling anymore,_

_I've forgotten what I started fighting for._

_It's time to bring this ship onto the shore,_

_And throw away the oars, forever..._


	9. Blade Runners

Delilah scooped some roasted potato wedges into her plate and walked over to the kitchen table.  She had Led Zeppelin II playing on her tablet, a bluetooth speaker doing its best to fill the room with the bluesy riffs and high raspy vocals that put a swing in her hips as she headed back to the fridge bobbing her head to _Heartbreaker_ ’s fast paced guitar solo.  She grabbed the water jug and poured herself a glass feeling the notes deep down in her core.  She put the jug back and returned to the table to settle in to eat.

She pulled the thick Men of Letters folio towards her and lifted the heavy leather binding of _Exorcismis et Sacra Damnatis_ , which contained a collection of various exorcisms and rituals surrounding demons.  With the First Blade so close, and the final showdown with Abaddon and her minions imminent, she felt it would be wise to learn some of these.  She browsed through drawings of devil’s traps and spells to incapacitate demons and even one to seal one’s lips she was thinking of trying on Crowley when the boys got back from their expedition.

The cad had convinced the Winchesters that they needed him for the meeting with the art dealer, that he could prove to be useful if they gave him a chance.  She could hardly believe it when they had marched him out of the dungeon and up the main stairs, hands not even bound by the demon restraints.  She half expected Crowley to vanish first chance he got regardless of the fact that he needed the Winchesters, well Dean, to kill Abaddon.

She heard the scuff of a shoe on the step behind her a split second before she heard his voice.

“What smells so damn good in here?” the older Winchester asked, reaching into her plate to steal a potato wedge.

She smacked his hand but he held on to the wedge and tossed it in his mouth, smiling.  “There’s plenty on the counter, Dean, you don’t need to pick from my plate,” she said frowning as he walked over to where the food lay, looking like a kid at Christmas.

“Mmmmm,” Sam said from behind her as he reached around with his long arm and stole another wedge.

“Seriously, guys!  Leave my food alone,” she implored.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Dean said, sticking bites of chicken into his mouth even as he loaded a plate, “There’s no food left.  This is mine.”

“Hey!” Sam called out, outraged as he quickly walked over to where Dean was hogging the food.

She watched them tussle, shaking her head, an irrepressible smile pulling at her lips.  They finally settled at the table with their plates and a couple of beers.  Dean made a happy grunting sound and bobbed his head as he took a pull of his bottle.  “Zeppelin II, best of the best,” he said, humming along slightly off-key to _Living Loving Maid._

“Really,” Delilah responded, “Most people would say Zeppelin IV is the summum of their works.”

“No way, it’s all about Ramble.”

“Zeppelin IV is pretty good, _Stairway to Heaven_ is a great song,” Sam chimed in, getting a glare from his brother. “What?  Seriously, dude.  What the hell are you gonna say against Stairway?”

Dean shook his head, “You’re so mainstream, man.  Every tone-deaf monkey knows Stairway is a great song.”

They argued back and forth a little longer until _Ramble On_ started playing and Dean told everyone to shut up for the whole four and a half minutes of the song.  When it finally finished, Delilah decided that more music would just lead to more arguing and she’d never find out how their meeting had gone, so she turned off the music player on her tablet.

“So, what happened?  Did you find the blade?” she asked them, unable to keep quiet anymore.

“No,” said Sam, “Just another lead.”

Delilah’s shoulders slumped.  Dean took out his cell phone and started swiping at it with his thumb.

“This’ll cheer you up,” he said handing it to her.

Delilah took it from him and frowned at the screen, not sure what she was looking at.  There seemed to be a vending machine with something blocking the bottom part of the lit-up glass pane.  She zoomed in on the hunched shape and thought she recognized the cut of the black coat and the unkempt black hair.

“Is that… Crowley?  What the hell is he doing?”

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, frustrated, as he picked up his now empty plate and headed to the sink.

“That,” said Dean leaning back and to the side against the wall, “is the King of Rotten… stealing candy.”

She shook her head baffled.  _Wow, what the hell?_   “The mighty sure have fallen.  He’s nothing but a tame house cat now.”

Dean snorted before standing up to bring his own plate to the sink.  “Mighty… right.  He’s always been a pain in the ass… now he’s just an almost useless pain in the ass.  You know, at least when Cas was human he was an ok guy.  Should’ve known Crowley would be a douche version.”

“He did get us the location of the blade,” Sam chimed in, putting the now empty serving dishes in the sink while it slowly filled with soapy water.

“Where is it finally?” Delilah asked, expecting another wild goose chase of a mission.

“National Institute of Antiquities in Kansas City,” replied Dean.

“Kansas City?  That’s only a few hours away from here,” she said, ignoring the knot in her stomach; Kansas City held a lot of bad memories for her.

“Yeah, looks like we caught a break,” said Sam, “Assuming, of course, that the blade is actually there.”

They discussed the situation further while they cleaned up the dishes.  Sam and Dean would go as FBI, maybe try to link the First Blade to an ongoing investigation.  She wasn’t particularly keen on going back to that city… ever, so when they suggested she stay behind to keep an eye on Crowley, she didn’t mind.

All three of them retired to the library after they had finished tidying up the kitchen, the boys continuing their individual research into the blade and the mark while Delilah tried to memorize spells and trap designs.  They ended up going to bed just past midnight, Sam calling it quits first, but bringing his laptop and a file tucked under his arm back to his room with him.  Delilah and Dean headed back to their side of the bunker, Dean pulling her into his room.  They fell asleep, Delilah tucked under his chin, after a fast and rough tumble she found incredibly satisfying.

~

Delilah woke up staring at a stuffed white teddy bear with a red nose and ears holding a heart that said, ‘Be mine’ sitting where Dean had been sleeping.  She smiled widely at the cheap convenience store Valentine’s Day toy and she felt herself go all warm and tingly.  Who would have thought her badass hunter had such a cheesy side?  She joined Dean in the kitchen, kissed his cheek, exchanging a silent, tender look with him before he bent his head back over the stove, a slight blush on his cheeks that could have been related to the heat of the pan, or not.  She got to enjoy some Winchester grade scrambled eggs and a lingering goodbye kiss, she suspected was as much to annoy Sam as it was for her benefit, before the boys headed out to the Impala, leaving early, wanting to visit the Institute as soon as possible so they could get the blade before Abaddon.

After they left, she headed to the gym so she could continue working on her recovery.  The place being nearly deserted on a Friday morning, she set up a few mats and practiced rolls and break falls, relieved that her side really wasn’t causing her pain anymore.  In her stretches, she made sure to twist every which way and again, no pain.  She left a couple hours later, after her usual run on the treadmill and weight routine, satisfied that anything short of a direct hit to her side would be fine and she declared herself battle ready.  All she needed was practice with her confinement and banishment spells and she would be unstoppable.

She parked the blue Dodge Dart back in its spot in the garage and lugged the three grocery bags down the steps and to the kitchen.  As she was putting away the food, she thought she heard a voice calling from far away.  She stopped what she was doing and listened attentively.  She thought she heard it again, like someone yelling, and she headed out of the kitchen and towards the main hall.  In the war room, she heard it distinctly, someone was calling out and it was coming from the other side of the bunker.  Crowley.  Delilah rolled her eyes and returned to the kitchen to finish putting the food away.

A couple hours, a shower and lunch later, Delilah was sitting in the library trying to focus on her work but the yells from downstairs kept piercing through her concentration.  No matter what she did, she could still hear him.  Even with music blaring, whenever there was a lull, there was Crowley’s voice pushing through.  She finally gave up trying to ignore him and pushed back from the table abruptly.  She went out the left back door of the library and down the steps to the hallway that ran parallel to Sam’s room’s hallway.  She turned right and then opened the wooden door at the end of the narrow hallway to the storage rooms.  Crowley’s shouts got significantly louder and she shuddered at the thought of what his vessel’s vocal chords looked like after hours of this.  She walked into the storage room, the yelling instantly stopping, and flicked up the switch on the wall by the door, flooding the room with light from the overhead lamps.  They hadn’t bothered pushing the shelves back in place when they had chained the demon to his chair, and he was staring right at her with a smug little half smile on his unshaven face.

“Hello, Lamb.  Where are Moose and Squirrel?” he asked her, all innocently, like he hadn’t just spent the last half day yelling at the top of his lungs.

She walked through the storage room and into the demon’s cell, “What’s wrong Crowley?  Bored without your toys?” she asked him, leaning back against the solid back of the storage room shelving separating the files from the dungeon.

“Perhaps,” he said, eyeing her in a calculating way that completely failed to give her the chills.  He was still off his game it seemed, even if the sheen of sweat had left his skin.  “Seems they left me in the charge of the Junior Woodchuck then.  From skivvy to jailer… we are moving up in the world.”

“You’re calling me their servant?  Really Crowley, you’re losing your touch if that’s the best you can come up with.”

“Well, what else would you call the dirty work you do, down on your knees?” he raised his eyebrows suggestively and she rolled her eyes.

“Right, back to calling me a whore.  Are you done?  I only came down here to tell you to shut up.”

“Whore? No.  That would suggest you service both Winchesters when clearly…” he lifted his nose in the air and breathed deeply, then looked back down at her, “The only body you’ve been working on, is Dean’s.” _Could that have been any creepier?_   Crowley continued, “Playing house, are we?  Make-believing you and Dean can have a _happily ever after_?  The lovely young wife keeping the home tidy and the bellies filled while the big, strong husband brings home the bacon?  Screwing every sweet thing he crosses paths with?  Sounds like a dream come true.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this Crowley, I think it’s you who likes to make-believe in that twisted, fucked up mind of yours.”

Delilah was quickly tiring of his ridiculous bullshit.  She pushed off from where she was leaning and turned her back on the useless excuse for a demon.  She was reaching for the shelves to swing them back in place and hopefully block out his yells more effectively, when his tone caught her attention.

“You can’t save him, you know,” Crowley said in his deep, gravelly, accented voice without a trace of his usual sarcasm.

Delilah froze, her hand on the shelving door.  _I have to save you_ , Dean’s echoing voice floated into her thoughts as she remembered one of the many unexplainable dreams she’d had that featured the green-eyed man.  _Kill him_ , Adriel’s voice breathed into her ear once more.  Delilah suppressed a shiver, hoping the demon hadn’t noticed.  He hardly needed fresh cannon fodder that’s for sure.  She shook herself on the inside, outwardly not showing any reaction he could use to bait her.

“Any particular threat I should be focusing on? Or are we talking general doom and gloom stuff here?” she asked him, nonchalantly.

Crowley shook his head slowly side-to-side and tsked.  “Poor, poor lost little Lamb.  How they expect you to survive this little drama of theirs without all the facts is beyond me.”

Delilah rolled her eyes again, more vague bullshit.  He was just toying with her.  She reached for the two shelves on either side of the opening in the wall.  “Well, this was fun, really, but I think I’ll just get back to my life now.  Thanks for the entertainment value.”

She started pushing the shelves into place when his next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I’m sure Cain’s wife found it vastly entertaining when Abaddon possessed her and broke her body in order to get to him.”  Delilah looked at the man, impotently chained in the centre of a devil’s trap and could only see the calm, smirking demeanour of the demon known as Crowley.  Whoever his vessel had been before was long gone.  “History does tend to repeat itself,” he went on, “What do you expect will happen when the last Knight of Hell finds out you’re involved with the only person who can kill her?  You, dear, are just another expendable pawn to be moved around the board and sacrificed at the right moment.”

“I’m not going to let that happen Crowley.  Not without a fight.  I’m not some useless, scared, little girl… I’m a hunter,” she told him firmly.

“Better hunters have died fighting much smaller foes,” he said, a wicked smile spreading on his face and Delilah felt a shiver run down her spine, like a droplet of cold water falling from above.  Crowley didn’t give her time to come up with a witty reply, “Besides, maybe you should worry about the monster in your bed first.”

Delilah frowned, her hands still on the shelves, ready to block off the taunts when she’d had enough.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not just anyone can possess the mark, Lamb.  Cain has to think you’re worthy of it.  One must wonder what the first ever murderer and creator of the Knights of Hell would look for in a successor… What kind of bloodlust did he see in your poor, broken lover.”

The memory of the look in Dean’s eyes as he coldly killed the guy who had been impersonating Thinman came to her afresh: that chilling determination, his features made hard and unforgiving by the clenching of his jaw, the light in his eyes dimmed by cold indifference… the same look Roger had failed to imitate when he had threatened her.  She looked at the smug little man in front of her and wondered what else he could tell her that might actually be useful.  In front of her lay a repository of lore.  If she could just access it.

“How much do you know about Cain?”  The asshole’s smile got wider, maybe sensing her deep desire to know more.  “What does it mean for Dean that he has the mark?”  More twisted smiling from the suddenly mute Crowley.  The fucking thing that loves the sound of its own voice and never shuts up won’t say a damn word suddenly?  It was Delilah’s turn to smirk at the demon.  “What do you want Crowley?”

“What I want, Lamb, is to get out of this fetid pit,” he clenched his teeth, his eyes losing their sarcasm as they filled with anger.

Delilah stared at him, sizing him up.  Like hell was she letting him out of his cage.  “Sorry Crowley.  No deal.”

She locked the shelves into their tracks and pushed them back into place, doubt filling her head as he yelled obscenities and threats.  She walked out of the storage room, turning off the lights and closing the door, muffling his voice further.  She closed the hallway door too as she headed back to the library the way she had come.

Her thoughts lingered on the things Crowley had told her.  She tried to dismiss his taunts as nothing more than lies to get his way, but some of what he said rang so true.  Dean got the mark from Cain at a time when he was alone, except for Crowley, whispering his manipulative little stories into his ear.  What had he been forced to do to prove his worth to Cain?

She was so lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed that someone was sitting in her chair at the middle table in the library.  Dean stood up when she headed his way and Delilah startled out of her contemplation.

“Dean!  When did you get back?”

“Just now,” he told her.

She walked up to him and put her hand on his arm as he leaned down to kiss her, and her thumb just barely brushed the raised skin of the tip of the Mark of Cain concealed under his rolled up plaid sleeve.  Sam strolled into the library, then, and pulled out a chair to sit down, rubbing his forehead, looking frustrated.

“I take it you didn’t find the blade?” she asked, sitting down in her chair while Dean sat on the edge of the table, carefully pushing some of her papers and the mortar and pestle out of the way first.  He gave her an intrigued look and she explained to him about the different spells she had been learning about.  She thought it would not be a bad idea to premix some of the ingredients for some of them, kind of like instant defence during a battle.  Dean looked mildly impressed as he nodded his head, glancing again at her work in progress.

They relayed to her what had happened at the Institute.  Abaddon’s demons had gotten there first, possessed and killed a couple of guards while trying to gain access to the vault where the blade had been put.  Luckily though, it had been removed a few weeks before, without the guards knowing, so Sam and Dean were pretty confident that Abaddon had no leads for the next place to look.  They, however, managed to talk to the curator, Dr. McElroy, who confirmed not only that she’d had the First Blade in her possession and had carbon dated it back to biblical times, but also the name of the person to whom she sold it, fearing she’d never be able to authenticate it.

“So… who bought the blade?” asked Delilah.

“Someone called Magnus,” Sam told her.

Delilah blinked at him and then glanced at Dean; he was slouched, his right arm resting on his knee and frowning slightly, thoughtful.  “Is that it?” asked Delilah, looking back at Sam.  “I mean, yeah so Magnus isn’t the most common name out there, but we can’t just go around investigating everyone named Magnus… we don’t even know for sure it’s this guy’s real name!”

“I think that’s where we got lucky,” Dean said, “The Men of Letters used to use the name Albert Magnus whenever they needed to go incognito.  It’s also kinda like a calling card to other Men of Letters, like a trail of clues.”

“So… you think the Men of Letters have possession of the blade?” she asked hopefully.

Sam cleared his throat, “Uh, no.  See all the Men of Letters were slaughtered by Abaddon back in 1958.”  Delilah just kept staring at him, waiting to hear where this was going.  Sam continued, “Our grandfather, Henry Winchester, managed to escape using a spell which brought him to our time.  He told us about Albert Magnus and what it meant to other Men of Letters.”

“Right…  I’m still not following guys,” she said, looking between the two brothers, hoping that one of them would start making sense soon.

Dean continued with the story.  “Henry died fighting Abaddon, but not before we learned that a colleague of his had also escaped the massacre.  Larry Ganem.  He’s the one who told us about the bunker.”

Dean looked around at the room, to emphasize what he was saying.  Delilah felt like she had been slapped.  She had never really given much thought to who the builders of the bunker had been, nor where they now were.  She certainly hadn’t thought twice about how the boys had come to be living there… and now she was finding out that again, the story was steeped in blood and personal tragedy… Their grandfather, another casualty.

“So, do you think this Ganem has the blade?” she asked, returning to the immediate issue.

“No,” Dean said, “Abaddon ganked him too.”

She looked at him, he was looking tired.  When she glanced at Sam, he was clearly upset.  Obviously, this was dredging up some painful memories for both of them.

“Ok,” she said, staring at the table and her scattered notes and books, “What’s our next step?  You said this Magnus clue was lucky, where does it tell us to go?”

“Next, we talk to Crowley,” Dean said, “If anyone can tell us more about the Men of Letters massacre, it’s him.”

Delilah let out a skeptical huff, “Good luck with that… he’s not exactly in a helpful mood.”

“Oh, he’ll help,” Dean said with assurance, “I need the blade to kill Abaddon, he knows that.”

He stood up from the table and headed towards the main hall, closely followed by Sam.  Delilah had had her fill of being taunted by the jackass in the dungeon and she didn’t think putting her and Dean in the same room as him would help anyone’s cause but Crowley’s, so she stayed put, pulling her notes and practice sigils closer so she could get back to her studies.

It wasn’t twenty minutes later that the sound of a rattling chain and footsteps made her look up.  Her shoulders slumped when she saw the relatively short form of Crowley, arms firmly grasped by the towering Winchesters.  Delilah scoffed and shook her head.

“Jesus, you two are a couple of push overs,” she told them as they plopped Crowley down into one of the red padded leather chairs she liked so much.

Crowley made noises of complaint and she watched, astounded, as the boys moved around in and out of the room fetching things for him, all the while the demon stared at her with a satisfied smirk on his face.  In no time, Crowley had his feet up on an ottoman, a glass of scotch by his hand with the decanter within arm’s reach and, of all things, a couple of Dean’s nudie mags that he was leafing through, stopping on some of the pictures to lear obscenely.  The boys disappeared through the back doors, leaving her alone with the chained Crowley while they fetched the record files for the Men of Letters members.  She tried to ignore him, but when he started making little appreciative moans, she slammed her pencil down and turned to glare at him.

“What?” he asked, defensively, “I like to read the articles.”

“I’m sure that’s what’s going on.”  She turned her back on him again, but felt his eyes on her, making her neck prickle uneasily.

“A man has needs, pet,” he said, his voice slow.  “But you know all about men’s needs, don’t you?”

She turned around again to find him looking at her with a hungry look in his eyes and she couldn’t tell if he was lusting after her body or her blood.

“You’re not a man, Crowley, you’re a fucking demon, how ‘bout you stop all this screwing around and tell us what we need to know to get on with this goddamn mission.”

She stared the demon down and he stared right back until he finally lowered his eyes down to the glossy pages in his lap.  He raised the magazine to his face, giving her a clear view of the near-naked woman on the front cover.  She turned around again when Sam and Dean came back into the library carrying two filing boxes and dropping them onto the table.  Crowley had tipped them off that one of the members might have gotten out before the massacre, and would therefore, probably still be alive.

Sam took the lid off the first one and all three of them dug in, pulling out each thick file and cross-referencing the names with those of the men who were killed in the 1958 massacre.  They quickly discovered that every single one of them matched up, not a single member had escaped to tell the tale of Abaddon.  Dean had pulled a chair away from the table as he foraged through the box at his feet, looking through case files from that year.  Sam was looking even more frustrated as he leaned over the table, staring at a list of names.

“Okay, Crowley,” said Sam, exasperated with the fruitless efforts, “We have gone through the records for the entire membership in 1958.  Every single name matches the men who were killed.”

“That would be the active membership, correct?” he answered, sounding almost cooperative as he sipped his scotch.

Delilah looked up from the file in front of her and exchanged a look with Dean who had glanced up at the same time.  Why hadn’t they thought of that?  She had assumed that being part of the Men of Letters, came with a lifetime title, but did it really?  The stretch of silence between them must have tipped Crowley off because he took on his more usual berating tone as he explained.

“Were you all dropped on your heads a great deal?  Like I told you, rumour has it that a rogue member was tossed out on his arse.  Does that make him ‘active’?” He paused openly revelling in making them feel like idiots, when he was the one withholding information on purpose.  “Seriously, boys, how did you ever function without me?”

Delilah rolled her eyes and headed back out to the file room with Dean.  They looked through the shelves, where Sam had found the other membership records, at the labels on the boxes when one on the top shelf caught her eye.

“Dean,” she said, getting his attention, “Look at this one – ‘Infamati et Obliterati’, this could be it.”

“What does it mean?” he asked as he reached up to pull down the box.

“Dishonoured and forgotten.”

They brought it back to the library and the three of them sat down at the table, pulling out a bunch of the beige folios.  They sat back to read, Crowley staying blissfully quiet as they perused the materials on those the Men of Letters thought best to banish from their ranks.  Delilah read about experiments and spells designed to inflict unnecessary pain on various creatures, much of it seeming for no better reason than because they could.  She was instantly reminded of some of the terrible things done to Jews in the Holocaust by overzealous and unscrupulous scientists.  She put down a particularly gruesome description of an autopsy performed on a kitsune while it was still alive, complete with photos, just as Dean uttered a ‘wow’ under his breath.  She looked up at him, glad to have a break from the horrors.

“This guy was something,” Dean said handing a page of notes to Sam to look over.

Sam took it from him, “Tough name,” he said.

“Cuthbert Sinclair,” Dean said, looking at the next sheet in the file.  “I’d have just gone with Magnus.”

“Looks like he designed most of the warding that keeps the bunker safe,” said Sam, looking around at the spell work etched along the top of the walls.

“Says here he was named ‘Master of Spells’, right after he initiated,” added Dean.

Delilah frowned, “That doesn’t sound to me like someone who should be dishonoured or forgotten.”

Dean frowned too, and kept reading.  Sam glanced at her, and back down to the paper.

“I guess his work got a little crazy.  The leadership called it ‘eccentric’ and ‘irresponsible’,” he shook his head trying to make the information make sense.

Delilah glanced down at the piled folios on the table that she had been looking at.  The name on the top cover caught her attention.  She browsed through the other folios under it quickly.

“Guys, check these out.  These are some of the projects that were proposed, they all have Cuthbert’s name on them.”

Dean reached over and picked up a few of them, looking at each cover and tossing them onto the table towards Sam, “Rejected… rejected… rejected… All of these were rejected by the leaders.”

“And all within the last two years he was here,” said Sam as he looked through them, his frown lines competing with Dean’s for most perplexed.

Crowley’s oily voice chimed up from his comfy spot in the corner, “So difficult: brilliant, ahead of your time, despised for it.  Trust me, I know.”

“Formal separation from Men of Letters,” Dean said, ignoring Crowley’s comment, “April 1956.” He slammed the cover shut on the Sinclair file and Sam looked up.

“He missed the massacre,” he said.

The three of them looked at each other, hardly daring to hope that maybe they had found the final clue to track down the blade.

“I never knew his name, but I heard someone was out,” said Crowley, free of his sarcasm.  “Did my damnedest to find him.  Thought he might be my way inside this joint.” He looked around the library and then forlornly at his manacled hands.

“So where did you look?” Sam asked him.

Crowley told them about tracking the man down to a clearing within a wood not that far from here and they were off.  They put all the files related to Cuthbert Sinclair back into the filing box and threw on their coats.  Delilah detoured to her room to grab her angel blade in case they came across Abaddon’s minions in their search for the so-called Magnus.  No one batted an eye when she put on her own lined jean jacket and pulled open the back door on the driver’s side of the car.

They pulled up at the end of the trail, a small lake on one side and the late winter woods on the other.  They all got out of the car and Crowley told them that it wasn’t much further.  Sam and Dean went to the Impala’s trunk and pulled out their machetes, clasping them around their hips and legs on the left side.  They also both checked their bullet clips ritualistically before tucking their guns in the back of their belts.  They headed into the woods where Crowley had indicated, each swinging at the underbrush to clear the way while Crowley followed them meekly with his hands in his coat pockets and Delilah brought up the rear, angel blade in hand, keeping an eye open for attacks.  They actually didn’t have that far to go, Crowley pulling them up short on the edge of a clearing.  Delilah looked around.  There was absolutely nothing special about this clearing in the woods – no house, no trail, not even a marker of any sort.  The trees were thick enough to offer cover but leafless, letting the late afternoon sun light up the area clearly.  If Cuthbert, or Magnus, or whoever, was hiding here, there was absolutely no trace of it.

Dean looked around too, skepticism all over his face.  “So this is where your demons tracked him to?”

Crowley was cool and collected when he answered, “Exact spot.  My boys never could find him.” He looked around at the leafless trees, “I’m sensing nothing, so if he’s here, he’s warded up to the gills.”

“Well, he was a genius at it, right?” said Sam, “Sure as hell ain’t gonna be found by a bunch of demons.”

Crowley raised his eyebrow at him, “Oh, like he’s gonna open his heart to you lot, because you’re such prizes?”

“Better,” said Dean, putting his machete away in its holder, “We’re legacies.  All right,” he added, as Sam put his own machete away.  Delilah kept the angel blade firmly in her hand.  “If he’s so bent on hiding, maybe he’s watching.  You should call out to him.”

“Alright,” Sam answered softly, then he turned to address the empty clearing.  “Cuthbert Sinclair… uh Magnus… whatever.  We’re Sam and Dean Winchester, Henry Winchester’s grandsons…”  he held up the box that contained the key to the bunker.

“And Men of Letters ourselves,” said Dean, looking at the area too.

“We know what happened back in the day,” continued Sam.  “We don’t… necessarily agree… with it.  We figured… maybe you’d like to tell your side of the story.”

He stopped talking, everyone waiting on tenterhooks for something, anything, to happen.  But nothing did.  The boys turned around, looking everywhere to see if anything had changed.  They had their backs to the field when Delilah saw the cloud of smoke coming out of the ground in a spiral, like in the old cartoons whenever a genie appeared.  Her eyes went round like silver dollars and she stepped up to Dean’s right side, her angel blade aimed at the ground.  The boys turned around and watched as a glowing, yellow doorway appeared in the middle of nowhere.  Dean turned to look at her.

“Listen, go back to the car with Crowley.  If you don’t hear from us in an hour…”

Delilah’s heart thumped loudly in her chest.  She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.  “Be careful, Dean.”

He nodded once and she let go of his hand and glanced at Sam who nodded to her too before both brothers stepped up to the golden arch and walked into the bright light.  As soon as they were through, the whole thing disappeared, the Winchesters no longer in the field.

Delilah worked hard to control her panic.  She had no proof that something was wrong at all, just a terrible, sinking feeling that clutched at her gut.  She stared intently at the spot where Sam and Dean had disappeared and then she took a deep breath and turned around to face the black Armani clad demon.

“Let’s go, Crowley.”

To his credit, he didn’t say anything all the way back to the car.

⭐


	10. Can't Stand Losing You

Delilah attempted to keep the nerves at bay by digging through the information they had on Sinclair.  _If you don’t hear from us in an hour_ … what?  What the hell was she supposed to do if the Winchesters didn’t show up in an hour?  She quelled the panic once more, chiding herself to focus on finding a way to gain entry to wherever the boys had blipped off to.

In the end, she never found out what she would do when the hour was up because barely thirty minutes later, Sam came crashing through the underbrush making both Crowley and Delilah look up.  She tossed the file she had been reading back into the box and rushed to his side, ignoring the pit lodged in her stomach from not seeing Dean.  When she reached Sam, the three words he said to her froze her to her bones: Magnus has Dean.

They made their way back to the car while Sam told her about Magnus.  The guy was clearly insane.  He was putting together the greatest collection of supernatural rarities and antiquities, including a zoo.  He had let loose two vampires in order to test them when they got into the house.  The house itself was invisible, imperceptible to the senses, almost like it existed in a parallel universe, it was impossible to interact with it without the proper spells.  Sam rummaged through the files in the back of the Impala, looking for something that would help them rescue Dean.  Delilah pressed him about his brother, trying to find out what had happened.

“I dunno,” Sam said, sounding slightly less panicked, “We were just sitting around, talking about the First Blade and Abaddon.  Dean showed him the Mark of Cain and it’s like he flipped.  But Delilah, he has the First Blade, I saw it, just before he cast me out of the house.”

“I don’t get it, what does he want with Dean?” Delilah asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam answered, “Nothing good.  What do you want Crowley?” Sam raised his tone, practically growling at the demon who had slowly been sidling up to them by the car.

“I only want to help,” Crowley answered unconvincingly and Sam pulled out his demon blade, pointing it right at him without saying a word.

Crowley threw up his hands, wide-eyed, and took a few steps back.  Sam put the blade away and went back to looking through the files.  Delilah kneeled up on the front seat of the car and leaned over the back rest to help him with the search.  She stopped when Crowley started talking again.

“Who would have thunk it, eh, Moose?  You and me… and Lamb here I suppose, same team, in the trenches.  When this is over, we should get matching tattoos.”

Sam turned, clearly annoyed with the demon, “Just to be clear, Crowley, we are not on the same anything.  Oh, and since the place is warded, your powers are useless, which means _you_ are useless… even more so than usual.”

Delilah shook her head and opened another file, looking through it.  Another one of Sinclair/Magnus’s rejected projects.

“If memory serves me,” Crowley pushed on, irritating Delilah to the point of almost threatening him with her angel blade which she had slipped back into her belt, “I’m the one who helped your brother find Cain so that we could find the blade, so that Dean could receive the mark.  I’m the one who flushed that lout Gadreel out of your noggin.  So, lately, big boy, I’ve seen more playing time than you.”

“Crowley,” said Sam, his voice quaking in anger.  “Will you please shut… the hell… up?”

The demon finally walked off to a safer distance, leaving Delilah and Sam to look through the files.  Around them, night was falling fast and he dug out and turned on the battery lanterns they kept in the trunk.  Delilah’s eyes were getting tired, trying to read the typed information in the file she had just picked up, her knotted stomach wasn’t helping as every time she tried to concentrate on what she was looking for, images of Dean being hurt or tortured popped into her head.  She kept having to remind herself that for all she knew, Dean was perfectly safe and sipping a whiskey exchanging stories with Magnus… but then why would he have sent Sam packing?  She redoubled her efforts to focus, and her eyes landed on a keyword, jumping out of the page at her: invisible.  She read the few lines around it and jumped up grabbing Sam’s arm.  He looked at her keenly, a spec of hope in his eyes.

“I think I found something,” she told him.  “One of his rejected projects was to make the entire bunker completely invisible.” She continued, reading from the file, “’All physical points of entry are to be eliminated and entrance will only be gained… through spell.’ Oh my god, Sam.  That’s what he did here right?”

Sam reached for the file and she handed it to him, “Does it have the spell there to get inside?” he asked.

Delilah leaned even more over the seat so they could look at it together when she suddenly felt light headed.  The car around her was flickering.  She said Sam’s name and reached for him as he tried to grab her arm but everything flickered again and he went right through her like she was nothing more than a ghost.  She looked up at him, scared, unsure what was happening to her and she couldn’t hear him, could just see his mouth moving as he yelled her name and then he was gone.  The forest was gone.  The soft leather of the Impala’s seat was gone.

She was first aware of the thick, soft, red Persian rug under her cheek and then the gruff voice, growling threateningly.

“No!  You listen to me, Magnus.  Leave her out of this.  Let her go.”

Delilah looked up and saw Dean standing, his back to a large column, his arms tied back over his elbows.  He was looking right at her, panic on his face.  She pushed up with her hands against the plush carpet and tried to stand up, only to find her ankles were tied to something.  She looked back and saw the thick dark iron manacles around her legs and looped through a heavy ring embedded in the floor.  _Not this again_ , she thought to herself, as she pushed up to sit back on her heels.

She looked around quickly, noticing her surroundings in passing – the heavy leather furniture, the red wood-panelled walls covered with paintings and hangings and show cases for various weapons and artifacts… it looked like the bunker on steroids.  She looked back to Dean and noticed his right sleeve pushed up above his elbow, the Mark of Cain standing out on his pale skin.  She could’ve sworn it looked redder than usual.  Then, a man in his late thirties, with neatly slicked black hair, dressed in a green suit and a bright bow tie stepped into her line of sight, his hands clasped behind his back.  Dean was glaring at him, his nostrils flaring in anger.  This must be Magnus then.

She thanked the powers that be that her hands weren’t tied and she reached at her belt and pulled out her angel blade, pointing it straight at Magnus.  He immediately took a step towards her, but before she could swing at him, he blew something powdery at her, mumbling words in a language she didn’t recognize.  Suddenly, her blade glowed white and the hilt seared into her palm, making her drop it.  She covered her burnt palm with her other hand as Magnus bent down with a frown and picked up her blade.

“Oh my, how did you come by something like that?” he said in a honeyed voice as he admired the triple-edged blade.

Delilah glared at him, clenching her teeth.  “I took it from an angel who had me tied up just like this… before I killed it.”

Magnus turned to look at her curiously, “Well aren’t you pleasant and bloodthirsty?”

Dean spoke up, pulling at his bindings, “She has nothing to do with this, Magnus.  What could you possibly want with her?”

“You’re right, Dean,” Magnus answered, turning around to face him, “She means absolutely nothing to me… but to you.” A slow smile spread on his face while Dean’s expression darkened.  “Mmm, my friend, I thought hunters knew better than to form attachments.  She’s the perfect leverage.  You’ll do anything I say, just to keep her out of harm’s way.”

“You son of a bitch,” Delilah burst out angrily, “If you think you can manipulate him like that, you’re wrong.  He doesn’t give a shit what happens to me.”

Magnus turned to look at her again and she fought hard to keep her angry, poker face in place.  But the man called her bluff.

“Oh, if that’s the case then I guess I can feed you to the zoo, they haven’t hunted a fresh human in years.”

Magnus reached for her arm, Delilah backing away from him as far as her chain let her but Dean suddenly yelled, “No!  Don’t you touch her, you sick bastard.”

Magnus gave her a satisfied smirk as he straightened back up. “You see?  Leverage.”  He walked back over to Dean, addressing him, “You’ll come to understand, Dean, nothing can stop us...”

Delilah’s mind fired up, running through a breakdown of the situation to help her figure out what to do.  She and Sam had been looking for a way in, and now she was in.  Granted she had lost the element of surprise, but there had to be something she could do.  The place was full of weapons everywhere, she really just needed to get free.  “Anything,” continued Magnus, “anyone we want to own or destroy is ours.”

“Well, how ‘bout this Magnus?” Dean was sounding tired, like he had been running, or fighting and he had nothing left in him.  “How ‘bout I take a knee?  Then what’re you gonna do?  ‘Cause you can hurt her, or kill her, and all that’s gonna do, is make me mad, and I still won’t do what you want.  So what then?  You gonna kill me? Without this thing on my arm, that blade is nothing but a hunk of bone with teeth.”

“Hmm, well I’m not asking for your cooperation.  I’m just taking it.”

Magnus lay his hand on Dean’s forehead, quick as a striking snake, and uttered a few words in latin.

“No!  Stop it! Get away from him you motherfucker!” Delilah screamed at him.

Magnus pulled his hand away from Dean’s head and turned towards her, the smile gone from his lips, “That swearing is very unbecoming of a young woman like you.”

“Go suck a goat, you spineless fuck.”

Magnus shook his head, looking absolutely taken aback and turned around to talk to Dean again, choosing to ignore her.  Dean was staring ahead of him blankly, his breathing even and calm.  What had he done to him?

“Interesting effect, huh?” Magnus asked Dean.  “All thought, all will, just… drained out of you.  I do this enough, you’ll be ready for whatever I have in mind… including,” Magnus turned towards her, hands crossed in front of him, “killing her.”

Dean looked at her and slowly, emotions and expression came back to his face, his lost boy look pushing her to come up with a plan.  She had to get him out of here and fast.  The ex-Man of Letters leered at her and walked off to the side of the room.  She watched him as he stopped in front of a display stand and pulled an antique knife out of its sheath.  He turned to face them, Delilah not taking her eyes off him as he slowly walked back towards them.

“But really, Dean.  You and I both know that I don’t need a spell to get you to do what I want.”

He crouched in front of Delilah and held the knife in front of her face.

“I swear to God, Magnus…” Dean said between clenched teeth.

“What?” he asked, turning to look at Dean. “What’re you gonna do?  What is he gonna do?” he turned to her again and without hesitation ran the sharp blade down her cheek, the pain causing her to cry out.  Dean thrashed against his chains in anger, unable to move.  Delilah glared at Magnus, the slice in her cheek a dull, burning throb as she glared at him.  She reached forward with her hands, planning to disarm him, but he reacted faster than she thought possible and suddenly he was behind her, holding her across the shoulders, the knife to her throat.  She could hear him breathing heavily and she could feel the cold metal of his knife against her throat, but she was distracted by the strange sight before her.  Somehow, Crowley had managed to sneak in and was now untying Dean.  She struggled against Magnus, trying to keep his focus on her the time it took for the demon to get Dean out.

“It’s okay, ssh… I’m not going to kill you.  Of course not.” And Delilah felt the blade sliding along her neck slowly, the pain shooting through her again and she squeezed her eyes shut.  She heard the sound of the chains as they hit the wooden floor where Dean had been restrained and when she felt Magnus push away from her, she knew that she would find Dean gone.

She opened her eyes and rocked to her feet, turning carefully so the chain wouldn’t trip her up.  Magnus was backing away from her, looking around with a panicked look in his eyes, holding out his antique blade like it would protect him from Dean’s fury.  She saw him a split second before Magnus as he blindsided him, grabbing the small man by the knife arm and slicing off his head in one fluid motion, the body falling to the ground, spilling blood all over the plush carpet.

It had happened so fast, Delilah was almost in shock, and she thought Dean might be as well, as he turned to look at Crowley, who was skulking in a corner, hands in his coat pocket again.  Then Delilah noticed Dean’s shaking arm and she looked down to see the mark glowing red like embers in a dying fire, the veins around it darkening as they stretched towards his hand holding on tightly to what looked like a piece of jaw bone… the First Blade.

Delilah looked back up to Dean’s face and what she saw filled her with fear.  He was within her arms’ reach but she didn’t dare approach him.  His gaze shifted down to the blade and he slowly raised his shaking arm, staring intently at his hand.  “Dean,” she said his name, trying to get his attention away from the shaking weapon.  “Dean, it’s over,” she tried again, still not daring to move up and touch him.  He didn’t hear her, trapped in whatever nightmare he was in, anger and a terrifying thirst in his eyes.  “Please, babe.  Drop the blade.”  His lips began to quiver into a snarl, baring his clenched teeth as he tried to hold on to the shaking blade.  “Dean!” she yelled, finally, absolutely scared, for the first time, of the man standing before her.  She must have penetrated the haze around his mind because he turned his head towards her, the anger turning to wide-eyed horror and confusion.  “Drop the blade,” she pleaded with him one last time and he managed to open his fingers and the blade fell to the ground.  Delilah rushed into his arms, nearly falling against him as the chain around her ankles tripped her up and she held him around his torso, her uncut cheek pressed into his brown t-shirt as slowly, his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight.

Sam suddenly came running into the room, a few bloody gashes on him too, his machete dripping in blood: he must’ve been fighting the creatures in the zoo while Crowley came to free Dean.  Sam rushed over to where they were holding each other and kneeled down to pick the lock around her ankles.  He straightened up and glanced quickly at his brother before grabbing her chin and turning her head to look at her bleeding cheek and neck. Dean’s arms dropped to the side and he stepped away, looking at the blade on the floor, not daring to pick it up.  Delilah was really getting worried, what the hell did that thing do to him?  Sam had grabbed a tissue and was dabbing at her cuts.  She pushed his hand away, concerned for Dean.  “Sam, we have to get out of here.”  She tipped her chin towards Dean and Sam turned to look at his brother, deep frown lines on his face.

He bent down and picked up the First Blade, not reacting any differently than with any other weapon and Dean seemed to snap out of it.  She walked over to where Magnus had put down her angel blade and she slipped it back into her belt, while Dean patted down Magnus’s headless body, taking back his gun.  Sam walked over to the table beside the couch and opened one of the containers.  He took a handful of powder and gestured for everyone to get closer, Crowley stepping in at the last second.

“I did good, eh Moose?” Sam just glared at him and he turned his head, cowed.  “You’re welcome,” he added morosely.

Sam uttered a phrase in latin and tossed the powder on all of them.  Suddenly, they were back in the clearing – the dawn light brightening the sky in the east.  They made their way in single file back to the small lake where the car was parked: Dean leading the way, followed by Sam and Delilah and Crowley bringing up the rear.

“Brilliant, I must say,” the irritating Demon said suddenly.  “I’m speaking of myself of course, all you three managed to do was get trussed up and play with the pets.” Delilah rolled her eyes, but he was completely undeterred by their lack of response and went on, “Combine a little derring-do on my part, a little dumb muscle from Squirrel, a little bleeding from Lamb…”

Delilah turned and glared at him just as they exited the woods, “Shut up already with that shit or I’m gonna rename you Limpdick.”

Crowley grimaced at her and she turned around satisfied that he was done… she was wrong.  “Happy ending.  Roll credits,” he said as they started walking again.

Delilah pulled up short when she saw Sam and Dean’s tense postures. They had stopped on the very edge of the woods and were staring at something she couldn’t see, blocked as she was by both men’s broad backs.  She barely had time to be confused when Dean rushed forward, growling, “No, no! Come on!  What the fuck?” clearing her view of what everyone was staring at: the Impala, all doors open looking for all the world like it had been rummaged through by thieves.

Her thoughts automatically jumped to the files and weapons in the trunk.  As she ran up behind the boys, she got a whiff of the smell of rotten eggs.

“That’s sulfur…” said Sam, “Demons.”

Dean leaned over the back seat, looking through what was back there, sounding like he was in pain, while Sam went to the trunk and unlocked it.

“Abaddon’s,” Dean yelled from inside the car, his ass hanging out the open door.  “She’s just one jump behind us.”

“Guess she couldn’t find Magnus, either,” Delilah said, rushing over to Sam, thinking about all the information stored back there in the case files.

“What about the trunk?” Dean asked, straightening out of the car and glancing over as Sam opened it.

“Safe,” he breathed, relieved, “The warding kept them out.”

Delilah was relieved that nothing worse had happened while they were trapped in the house and she turned to look at Dean as he muttered to himself, “Demon mitts all over my Baby,” and then swung the back door shut.  She startled when he burst out angrily, “Oh, come on!”

She and Sam moved around the back of the car to see what the problem was and Dean shut the driver’s door too.  She understood Dean’s reaction when she saw the symbols etched into the black paint of the Impala.  He crouched down, leaning on Baby and tried to rub out the scratches with his thumb.  Delilah raised her eyebrows and looked at Sam uncomfortably, what the hell was she supposed to say?  She knew Dean loved that car more than anything else in the world; it certainly did seem to be enough to distract him from what had happened to him inside Magnus’s house.

Delilah glanced down at Sam’s hand.  He was still holding on to the First Blade but staring at the scratches on the Impala intently.  She pointed to his hand and he glanced down at her, handing her the blade before turning back to the car.

“What language is that?” he asked no one in particular.

She examined the first weapon ever used to kill another human, a sense of reverence mixed with disgust filling her up: this blade was as old as bible stories.  The history lover in her was absolutely fascinated, even with the blade’s bloody trail.  She turned it over in her hand, aware of Sam and Crowley talking, but not really registering anything specific, rather letting the information sort itself out.  The blade was entirely made of bone, a single side of a donkey’s jaw, broken off and worn smooth and sharp along the blade edge, some of the teeth still intact on the other.  Raw hide had been used to wrap the handle for a better grip, something she figured Cain did after its first use, and had probably been replaced often in the thousands of years since.  “Dean,” Sam said, pulling her out of her analysis.  Dean was still leaning against the side of the car, but he had given up trying to buff out the symbols and was now just leaning his head, eyes closed, like he was in physical pain.

“Dean,” Sam said again more insistently and he stood up, looking angry, although not even close to what he had looked like with the blade in his hand.  She held on to it more tightly.  Sam went on, “Listen,” he was speaking softly and she listened more attentively, “you said Crowley was only useful ‘till we got the blade.”  She could see the demon standing away from them, still on the edge of the woods, uncharacteristically giving them space for once.  “We got the blade.” Sam finished, looking intently at his brother.  Delilah frowned.  She was far from liking Crowley, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the demon switched sides again, or their purposes ran against each other and he would go back to being a problem, but he had just saved Dean and her both… it seemed, wrong, to kill him now.

Suddenly, Sam and Dean went flying, thrown back against the side of the Impala and immobilized.  She turned to look at Crowley, who had his hand in the air, clearly the one who had just thrown the Winchesters.  She looked at him and noticed something different about the demon; he was focused and standing confidently, a real contrast to the cowering, praise seeking creature he had been just a few moments ago… how long had he been pretending?  How long had he been manipulating them all?  She was angry and she felt the warm bone blade in her hand in direct contrast with the cold metal feel of her angel blade, hanging, waiting on her hip.

“Oh, Lamb,” Crowley crooned at her, tsking.  “Don’t make me hurt you.”

He took a step towards her and she grabbed the hilt of her angel blade, pulling it out left-handed and flipping it in her hand as soon as it cleared her belt to point it at him.  With a smirk and a flick of his fingers, the blade flew away from her and she felt a crushing grip on her throat lifting her to her toes and cutting off most of her breathing.  All available energy immediately went to keeping her grip on the First Blade in her right hand, taking quick, shallow breaths to keep from blacking out.  The demon turned to address the Winchesters, satisfied that there were no threats to him anymore.

“You know, boys, I’m in debt to you.”  He paused, narrowing his eyes against the growing intensity of the morning sunshine, “You forced sobriety on me, and now I can see the situation for what it is.  Dean, you are quite the killing machine, and it occurs to me that Abaddon is not the only name on your list.  My name, must be up there, as well.”

One of the spells she had been studying jumped to mind and she reached into her pocket while Crowley was distracted by his own speech.  She grabbed the baggy and managed to open it with her fingers and dip inside, some of the powder mix sticking to her finger tip.  She raised her hand to her forehead and drew a cross there with the powder as she muttered as loud as her gripped throat could, “Conteret et maledictionem.”

Instantly the invisible fingers holding her throat released her and she fell into a crouch, reaching for her blade.  Crowley turned to her surprised and flicked the angel blade further away from her.  “That… was a clever little trick, Delilah.” He flicked his wrist towards her and she felt hard pressure like a punch to the gut as she flew back, flipping head over heels and landing on her stomach.  “But it won’t help you.”

She looked up and saw to her horror that the First Blade was on the ground, three feet away.  She scrambled to her hands, pushing with her feet and threw herself at it, but with another twist of his wrist, the blade flew away from her, pulled by an invisible thread and landed in his hand.

“Crowley, you sonofabitch,” Dean said, still plastered to his car, “It’s no good to you without me.”

“Yes,” he answered, looking at him smugly.  “But as long as I have it, it’s no good to you.”

Delilah tried to stand up, thinking of a last-ditch effort to tackle Crowley and pull the blade out of his hands if she had to, but another invisible blow knocked her back on her ass, making her see stars.  “Really, Lamb.  I appreciate the hard-headed determination, but it’s over.”

Dean let out a frustrated yell, unable to do anything to help her, and she looked at him and his brother, glaring at the demon impotently.

“Now this is the way it’s going to go: I’ll hang on to old donkey teeth here until such time as you locate Abaddon.  Then, you’ll destroy… her.”  He looked at Sam, almost regretfully, “You’re right, Moose.  You can’t trust me.  But, sadly, I can’t trust you, either.”

Suddenly, Crowley was just gone, and the Winchesters were released, the car rocking, as their weight shifted back to their feet.  Dean rushed over to where she was getting up slowly, and she took his hand.  She practically flew into his arms, he pulled on her so hard and he held on to her tightly.  She patted his back comfortingly, feeling his iron grip pushing the air out of her lungs painfully, but she didn’t care.

“I’m sorry, Dean.  He got the blade,” she told him, feeling like she had failed him.

He let her go and clasped her head in his large hands, looking at her, grinding his teeth, “Are you insane?  He could’ve killed you!”  She didn’t know what to say as he looked into her eyes, his wild look slowly softening again as she felt the tell-tale prickle of tears in her eyes.  He pulled her into his arms again, more gently this time, and cradled the back of her head, “Baby, it’s not worth that.  We’ll get it back.”

“At least, now we know where it is,” Sam said, walking up to them.  “Crowley wants Abaddon dead as much as we do, he’ll hide it well.”

Delilah had her doubts about that, she didn’t think Crowley was above cutting a deal with Abaddon: giving her the blade and the Winchesters on a silver platter if it meant he could regain some control of his kingdom.

They returned to the bunker, Dean parking Baby in the maintenance spot in the garage.  She and Sam trudged towards the stairs, heading to the infirmary to fix each other’s cuts and scrapes.  Dean didn’t follow them, instead he went to the shelf in the corner and grabbed the sander.  She frowned and stopped at the top of the steps leading down to the bunker: clearly he was going for more than just a touch up on the paint.

“You’re going to do that now?” she asked him, clearly confused.  None of them had slept in twenty-four hours, she was planning on a hot shower and a long sleep after she was done playing first aid with Sam.  Dean was looking down at the side of his car, looking lost again.  She walked back over to him and took his hand.

“Come to bed,” she told him softly, “You need to sleep, Dean.  Baby can wait a few hours.”

Dean nodded, still looking at his car.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Go ahead with Sam, I’ll be there soon.”

Delilah stood on her toes, steadying herself on his arm and kissed his cheek, an uneasy feeling in her stomach.  She didn’t want to push him, though.  He obviously needed time to process what had happened, working on the car was as good a distraction as any.  She walked down the steps and then up to the infirmary where she tended to Sam’s fighting injuries.  Her own scratches were so shallow, they wouldn’t need stitches and in fact had already stopped bleeding, so she decided to leave them.  She headed down to the shower room and let the water wash away the dried blood on her face and neck, hardly even stinging her cuts.  When she was done, she figured it had been at least an hour since she left Dean in the garage and she ventured over to his room to see if he needed anything.

The door was open, the bedside light shining down on the cheap little teddy bear he had given her yesterday.  Dean was nowhere in sight.  She was filled with a sense of dread as she walked up to the bed and picked up her Valentine teddy.  She held it against her tightly and crawled into Dean’s bed, the blankets and pillows smelling like him, but lacking his radiating warmth.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing you

⭐

**Author's Note:**

> All the chapters are name either after one of the episodes they refer to, or a song. Here's the list of songs and the artists who perform them.  
> Chapter 1: Sunshine of Your Love - Cream  
> Chapter 2: Captives - Episode 9.14  
> Chapter 3: Crazy On You - Heart  
> Chapter 4: #THINMAN - Episode 9.15  
> Chapter 5: Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin  
> Chapter 6: Ghostfacers - ... rules were meant to be broken ya know.  
> Chapter 7: Ready for Love - Bad Company  
> Chapter 8: Can't Fight This Feeling - REO Speedwagon (Damn right REO)  
> Chapter 9: Blade Runners - Episode 9.16  
> Chapter 10: Can't Stand Losing You - The Police (This is also the title of the fic.)


End file.
